By The Sword
by xstormqueenx
Summary: The LITs find themselves facing what may be their final battle, Clara finally confronting her fate. {And The Loom Of Fate, AU}.
1. Thunder & Lightning

**Author's Note:** This is the sequel to _And Into The Light._ The reading order so far for all of my Flynn/Clara fiction is: _And She Was Not An Adventure, Plato's Step-Daughter, A Christmas Clara, Sure As Sin, Once Upon A Dime, Reap The Whirlwind,_ _Out Of The Darkness, And Into The Light,_ and _By The Sword_. Each new Flynn/Clara story will include an updated reading order. All my Librarians fiction can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

 **Thunder & Lightning**

 _Sit tight with the lights off_  
 _Waiting for my brain to start_  
 _Trying to work things out_  
 _It's thunder and it's lightning_  
 _And it's all things too frightening_  
 _I could barely see outside…_

Clara opened her eyes, the world a blur above her, the sky another mystery to solve. Slowly, her existence began to make sense, Clara piecing it together like a puzzle, her father taking her hand, his eyes encouraging, his lips smiling. She was in the House of Refuge, birdsong in the air, the sunlight streaming in through the window, silence reigning supreme. There was peace here, the best of dark and bright, the choice she had chosen.

Jacob was in Paris, remembering the rain; Eve taking back her position as Guardian; Cassandra condemning the past, what she could have done to save those already damned; Ezekiel sitting in a smoky bar, losing count of how many beers he'd knocked back, trying to knock himself out; Jenkins seeking shelter from the storm, knowing there was none to be found, that it was just a story in a book, a fairytale for children. But Galeas had grown up, and grown out of fairytales, reality a truth he couldn't comprehend...

All around Clara, the battle raged, swords crashing together like thunder and lightning. Camelot was burning, fading as she faded, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The sky was a mystery she'd long since learned to solve, tracing the stars with her bloodstained fingers, finding her home in freedom before desire destroyed it, desecrating what had once been holy ground -

"Hartley!"

Clara opened her eyes, only to discover the world was sideways, Jacob's voice dragging her out of the darkness.

"Hartley, get up!" Jacob yelled, ducking, the axe missing his head by inches. "You're losin' focus - again!"

Clara staggered to her feet, snatching up her spear, only for somebody's sword to slice it in two. "What did you do that for!?" she yelled at Eve, ducking to avoid a flying dagger.

"It was an accident!" Eve yelled back, swinging her sword at her assailant. "Jones, what's holding you up!" she bellowed at Ezekiel, who was prancing about in front of a hieroglyphed wall.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ezekiel said sarcastically, "I just assumed you didn't want the ancient death-trap to drop a thousand tonnes of rocks on her" -

\- "Get on it like a car bonnet!" Clara said, half vaulting, half sliding over the sarcophagus.

"I could rush if you like," Ezekiel said, striking a thoughtful pose.

"Please do!" Clara said, sinking her brogue into somebody's stomach.

"The mathematical combination is based on these hieroglyphs!" Cassandra shouted above the din. "How many base symbols is there!?"

"Twenty four!" Jacob and Clara chorused in unison. "Old and New Kingdom!"

"Ezekiel, turn the gear twice clockwise," Cassandra said quickly, crouching down beside him, "and then the disciples of the sun divided by golden ratios and the pyramids three times counter clockwise" -

\- "Ha!" Ezekiel crowed as the walls split open, only to reveal empty space.

"Where the hell is he!?" Eve said in disbelief, dodging a dead hand.

"He said to meet him here!" Clara cried, ducking again. "But he didn't mention the mummies!"

"You can say that again!" Jacob snapped, diving past her, rather like a goalkeeper. But just as he did, the mummies froze, only to crumble into dust, Flynn stepping forwards, carrying a casket, eyes alight with adventure.

"Remove the medallion, and the mummies fall!" he declaimed, striking a noble pose.

"You didn't mention the mummies or the medallions," Clara said pertly, sashaying over to him.

"I'm sure I did," Flynn said, eying her appreciatively, "back in Venice, just after that particularly ravishing sunset."

"I only remember what came after _that_ ," Clara said seductively, wrapping her arms around his neck, his own arm snaking round her waist.

"Stone, Baird, Cassandra, Ezekiel, did I not mention the mummies nor the medallions in my message to meet me at the Monolith of Moods?" Flynn reeled off, throwing the casket at Cassandra who barely caught it, Ezekiel all but ripping it from her hands, Eve clipping him around the ear, forcing him to drop it.

"Nope, next time, mummy memo," Jacob said, picking himself up off the floor.

"You came back alive," Clara said, tapping Flynn on the nose, just to remind him she was there.

"So I did," Flynn said, wrapping his other arm around her waist as well.

"Not that I don't enjoy a spot of classic tomb-robbing," Ezekiel said, swaggering over to them, "but why are we here?"

"Because I believe this sarcophagus holds the key," Flynn said, reluctantly letting go of Clara, "I think I've found the way to bring back the Library."


	2. The Space Between Us

**The Space Between Us**

"The theory the Pharaohs used zero-point energy to construct the Pyramids is nothing new," Flynn said, straightening his tie as he strode through the stacks, becoming distracted by the sway of Clara's hips just up ahead.

"Of course," Clara drawled.

"Is that sarcasm?" Flynn said, grabbing her arm, forcing her to face him.

"No it's not," Clara snapped, tearing her arm out of his grip. In public, they were as ever, Flynn fond, Clara coquette, barring the rest of the world out, but behind the bookshelves, it was a different story, giving the cracks permission to show their presence. Venice had been the only time where things had been as they used to be between them, the memory stabbing Clara through the heart.

"I know I've not been around as much," Flynn said quietly, stooping down so he was eye-level with her, "but that's because I've been chasing down the Library. This is the closest I've ever been, Clara" -

\- "This isn't about the Library," Clara hissed, "this is about _us_."

Flynn half turned away from her, closing his eyes, not wanting to have this discussion. After the debacle of her day off, everything had changed between them, and Flynn couldn't change it back. Morgan Le Fay had set something in motion, and all Flynn could do was watch his world fall apart, powerless to stop it. He'd heard everything, the Clara who wasn't Clara not realising the call had connected, Flynn listening as she and Jenkins circled each other, before Jenkins had crushed her out of existence, resurrecting the real Clara from the chaos.

"Is it about Stone?" he said, making Clara take a step back, his words hitting a raw nerve.

"Don't drag Jake into this," she said, her voice cracking.

"I know how he feels about you," Flynn said, advancing on her, "but I don't know how you feel about him."

"I care about him," Clara said, meeting Flynn's gaze head-on. "But that's all, there's never been anything else between us. The most I've ever done is hold his hand" -

\- "You kissed him" -

\- "That was not _me_ ," Clara spat, hands shaking. "So don't even fling that at my head."

"He's here when I'm not," Flynn said as if she hadn't spoken.

"I - I don't love him," Clara said, the words being wrenched from her lips.

"Then who do you love?" Flynn said cryptically, before turning and leaving, Clara watching him go, his words a riddle she didn't want to unravel.

 _Look at us spinning out in_  
 _The madness of a roller coaster_  
 _You know you went off like a devil_  
 _In a church in the middle of a crowded room_  
 _All we can do, my love_  
 _Is hope we don't take this ship down…_

* * *

"Ah, here we go," Flynn said, picking up a heavy tome from his desk, "just what I was looking for."

" _Passageways To The Underlife?_ " Cassandra read aloud, her brow furrowing.

"Metaphorical and otherwise," Flynn said, striding over to the sarcophagus, careful to keep away from Jenkins who was studying its symbols.

"Are you thinking there's an actual doorway to the heavens in the Pyramids?" Eve said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Not a literal door," Jenkins explained, careful not to look at Flynn. "More like an interdimensional doorway."

"Well that makes sense because the Pyramids were designed along precise mathematical lines," Cassandra said in one breath, nearly going cross-eyed with the effort.

"And breathe," Ezekiel said, patting her shoulder.

"If the stones are resonant to certain energy wavelengths along the magical spectrum they act as lenses, focuses, foci, along the three dimensions, infinity, infinite" -

\- "For chrissake Cassandra, stop!" Jacob exclaimed, catching her before she fell.

"I saw it all," she gasped, clinging to his arm, "I saw it all the way down - I can't do this math," she said, clutching her head between her hands, "it's too much, too more, too many" -

\- "Cassie!" Clara cried, appearing from between the bookshelves, before running over to her, barging Flynn aside.

"I'm okay, I'm okay" -

\- "Just sit down," Clara said gently, steering her over to Flynn's armchair. As Cassandra sat down, Clara hastily pulled out an elaborately befrilled hanky, seeing Cassandra's nose was bleeding again. "Here," she said, pressing it into Cassandra's hand, "use this."

"Cass, what did you see?" Flynn pressed, ignoring the others' angry glances.

"What the hell are you doing to her!?" Clara spat, rounding on Flynn, startling everyone.

"I'm not doing anything," Flynn hissed, "but we need to know what these symbols mean" -

\- "The series of co-ordinates lead to the Void," Jenkins breathed, finally understanding, "the space between dimensions."

* * *

"The Library is floating in the Void, cut off from the real world," Flynn said, rumpling up his hair, "if we can open that door, I can find the Library - I can anchor it to this dimension, linking it back to the Annex."

"But you lack the power generated by millions of tonnes of finely balanced magical stones placed directly under the dissecting ley-lines," Jenkins pointed out, still careful not to look at Flynn, not wanting to see what he'd lost.

"Well, we'll just go back to Egypt," Flynn flared up, "I mean, in the end, it all comes back down to the Pyramids, doesn't it?"

"The process cannot work unless there is a Pyramid to power it," Jenkins reiterated tersely.

"Unless we use some reality altering guide linked to a dimensional shifting device along with software that interfaces with magic and once upon a time that sort of speech would have had you ripping my cravat off," Flynn reeled off, turning to Clara, who just greeted his remark with stony-faced silence.

"Talkin' of once upon a time," Jacob said uneasily, stepping forwards, "we have a reality alterin' storybook in our possession."

"Plus the relevant software courtesy of Morgan Le Fay," Cassandra said, making Jenkins wince.

"Really?" Flynn said, doing a double-take.

"Yeah, really," Jacob said, looking slightly insulted.

"Does Clara not keep you up to date with our heroic deeds and doings?" Ezekiel asked, leaning against Flynn's desk, ignoring its outraged outburst.

"Yes, but no," Flynn said evasively. "But never mind that, lead the way to marzipan madness!" Within the space of half an hour, which was slow by Flynn's standards, he had assembled the device of his dreams, Flynn capering like a kipper around his creation. "The dimensional stabilizer from Nikola Tesla," he trilled, twirling, Jacob flinching, "the ball of thread from the Labyrinth - the clippings book sent you to get all these things," he said suddenly, swirling to a stop, "almost like it was... fate."

"I think it's a little more complicated than that," Eve said, rolling her eyes.

"And I don't think we'll need the ball of thread either," Cassandra piped up, "it should work exactly as it is, the power, focus, effect" -

\- "Hartley, you're zonin' out again," Jacob said, snapping his fingers in front of Clara's blank face, startling her.

"I'm listening," she snapped back, flapping his hand away, "there's a difference."

"Which depends on _what_ you're listening to," Flynn said cryptically, straightening his cravat.


	3. Into The Fray

**Into The Fray**

"Librarian, co-ordinates from the sarcophagus please," Jenkins said stiffly, making Flynn cut short his conga.

"Excuse me," Flynn said to Clara, edging round her, ignoring the dirty looks she was flinging at his head like daggers. "Ah, here we are," he said, unfurling a scroll, "Om, Ah, Ra-Oop..." He glanced down at the rest of the parchment, only to be confronted by blank space. "That's it," he said, brow furrowing.

"Nothing else?" Jenkins said, frowning as well.

"Well, if there was, I would be Omming like an orang-utan at a yoga retreat in the fifth dimension," Flynn retorted, "which incidentally is a pit-stop along the way to the Library, and unless we sort this scroll out, I'm going to be stuck here like a baboon in a glass bottle cast in the Caspian Sea. And I for one would not like to find that particular bottle washed up on the beach."

"It's the storybook," Cassandra said nervously, "you can't just feed it numbers."

"Oh," Flynn said, before turning to Clara, his gaze raking her.

"What?" Clara said, frowning.

"Read me a bed-time story, beautiful," Flynn pretended to leer, sidling over to her.

"Whatever," Clara said, rolling her eyes. "What do I say?"

"Shall I show you?" Flynn purred, nuzzling her neck.

"Do you want me to turn your masculinity into a myth?" Clara suggested sweetly, grabbing his thigh, her nails digging through the fabric.

"Be my guest," Flynn winced, trying to save face.

"Don't tempt me," Clara snapped, letting go of him. "Once" - she then began, only to stop as Flynn suddenly shoulder-bumped her, sending her sideways like a pendulum. "Do you mind?" she hissed, but he just waggled his eyebrows at her, making her smile despite herself. "Once upon a time," she continued, elbowing him out of the way, "there was a very annoying" -

\- "dashing" -

\- " _annoying_ Librarian," Clara said loftily, turning away from him, "who wanted to open a door to" -

\- "his home," Flynn said, leaning over her shoulder, reading the words appearing out of thin air on the storybook page, almost like they were being written by an invisible hand.

"Uh, guys, we're getting some real power here," Ezekiel said nervously, as the dimensional stabilizer began to click and whirr, filling the air with an odd humming, making the floor vibrate beneath their feet. "Is that meant to happen?"

But Flynn just started laughing, jumping and down with glee, clapping his hands together, before suddenly lifting up Clara and swinging her round, his dark eyes dancing with almost devilish joy, something she hadn't seen for a long time. "Jenkins," he boomed, setting down the now dizzy Clara, "you're a genius!" Before Jenkins could react, Flynn kissed him on the forehead, before ruffling up his hair, offending Jenkins's dignity.

"One is aware, sir," Jenkins said tersely, smoothing down his silvered hair.

"Hey, we all contributed," Ezekiel pointed out. "Well, maybe not everyone," he amended, glancing at Eve, making her roll her eyes.

"My son!" Flynn declared, descending on Ezekiel, clasping him to his chest. "Jake, my child!" he declaimed, turning his gaze upon Jacob.

"I'm okay," Jacob said hastily, backing away

"So am I," Cassandra added, putting Flynn's desk between them for good measure.

" _The_ Librarian and his friends used the door to open a path," Clara then continued, making Flynn finally release Ezekiel from his overpowering embrace, "to a place they had lost..."

"Your nose was spot on!" Flynn beamed to nobody in particular.

"Nose?" Jenkins said, frowning again.

"No, _notes_ ," Flynn said, raising his voice above the din, " _your_ notes about the Pyramid to be precise!"

"Notes?" Jenkins said, brow furrowing. "What notes?"

"The notes you sent me," Flynn said, looking at him as if he was mad, "the notes that were genius which makes you a genius which we all knew already."

"I never sent you any notes," Jenkins said, shaking his head, "I mean, why would I? You haven't been in contact for practically aeons now - so why would I take the time to sent you a little epistle, when you can't even call to let me know you're alright" -

\- "Call?" Flynn said in disbelief, his temper rising, making him forget what they were meant to be doing. "I heard everything thanks to that one particular phonecall" -

\- "What are you talking about!?"

"Clara's day off," Flynn snapped, making everybody glance at him, "remember?"

Jenkins paled, taking a step back.

"What are you talking about?" Clara asked, confused. "What's my day off got to do with the Pyramid?"

But before Flynn could frame neither truth nor lie, smoke suddenly started to billow from the sarcophagus, rapidly filling the room, making everyone choke and splutter, Clara burying her nose in the crook of her arm. Then Dulaque was striding out of the smoke, startling everyone, shocking them to the spot. At the sight of their stunned faces, a smile snaked its way across his skull-like one, enjoying their idiocy. As ever, he was dressed like he was attending a business meeting, Lamia sashaying at his heels, the ultimate accessory.

"And then a hero arrived to set the world to rights," Dulaque intoned, coming to a stop in front of Flynn.

" _Dulaque?_ " Flynn said stupidly.

"Thank you for doing all the dirty work," Dulaque said, examining his fingernails, "it was most _considerate_ of you."

"What have you done?" Jenkins breathed, returning to life.

"Watch," Dulaque said, before turning and flinging the back door open.

"That's your grand plan, opening a door?" Ezekiel said, frowning.

"It doesn't just change this world," Dulaque said cryptically, "it ends it."

"What have you done!?" Jenkins yelled, rushing forwards, only for Dulaque to raise his hand, stopping Jenkins in his tracks. When Eve and the others made to move to Jenkins's defence, it was only to discover they couldn't, the spell extending to them as well.

"I need a blood sacrifice," Dulaque said, sounding bored, Lamia licking her lips at the prospect. She pulled out a knife, before grabbing Flynn by the arm, forcing him to kneel in front of her.

"Don't!" Clara screamed, feeling the storm stir in her, returning her to life. "God, please don't!"

But Lamia just smiled, stooping down, ready to draw the blade against Flynn's throat, ignoring the screams and yells that rose up in rebellion, Flynn's gaze meeting Clara's for one last time, completely powerless to save himself. As the magic roared like violet fire through Clara's veins, it was only to be quelled by history repeating itself, Dulaque suddenly stabbing Lamia in the back with his own dagger, making Clara reel, the spell forcing her to stand.

Lamia slowly turned around, face shocked. " _I loved you_ ," she gasped, before her eyes rolled back in her head, the knife falling through her fingers, body slumping to the ground, finally still.

"That was your misfortune," Dulaque said coldly, pulling out a black silk handkerchief, wiping the blade clean with it, "and mine was lowering my standards," he finished, casting Lamia's corpse a disgusted glance, stowing the dagger back inside his waistcoat.

Clara stood there, head spinning, not quite grasping what was happening. Yet she dimly realised it was always going to come to this. As though in a dream, her gaze travelled over Eve, Ezekiel, Cassandra, Jacob, Jenkins, then finally Flynn, the first and last face she'd seen and would ever see. They were her world, her family, all she had left. Her life had been a lie until the moment she walked through the Library's doors. It was her home, sheltering and shielding her.

"So with blood, the Passage was opened to the Loom of Fate," Dulaque declared, holding his handkerchief aloft, almost as if it was a favour granted to him by his lady love. For a moment, Clara was in two places at once; the Annex and Camelot, watching Dulaque destroy everything she ever cared about, watching Lancelot compete in the jousting tournament, her favour tucked in his breast-plate, a secret smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his eye caught hers -

And then Dulaque was gone, throwing himself through the open doors and into the unknown, the spell lifting, setting them free. Without thinking, Clara threw herself into the fray after him, Flynn at her heels, fate finally coming full circle.

 _Cut to pierce and flood_ _  
_ _Held it back as long as I could_ _  
_ _Coldness spreads within me now_

 _Crushing in and smashing down_ _  
_ _Crushing in and smashing down_

 _Grab for myself or endure a living death_ _  
_ _Into the fray with pure commitment…_


	4. Who We Are

**Who We Are**

Clara shielded her eyes with her arm, the light blinding her, almost encompassing her. Then it was gone, as if it had never been. She glanced around her, only to find she was in the middle of nowhere, fenced in by forest, hemming her in. Before her was a river, with some sort of makeshift bridge stretching across it, Flynn on the other side, divided from her.

"It's the River of Time and the Loom of Fate!" he yelled at her, jabbing his finger at Dulaque who was poring over a tapestry on a nearby raised platform made of piled up logs, making Clara do a double-take.

"It's the dimension lag, dear one," Dulaque smiled over his shoulder at her, "slows the senses down." He turned back to the tapestry, pulling out his dagger again, deliberating where to strike.

"Clara, don't let him touch the fabric!" Flynn almost screamed, rushing forwards, moving as though in slow motion.

"I'm doing this for you, Clara," Dulaque said, raising the dagger, Clara unable to move, feeling as though she'd been turned to stone, "for when everything went wrong - when Camelot fell and I lost everything I ever loved." Without warning, he slashed the tapestry, releasing a wave of golden light that sent shockwaves through the atmosphere, knocking Clara and Flynn over and into the river, driving Dulaque to his knees.

Time seemed to wave and whirl around them, rewriting reality, the world becoming a blank slate. When Clara opened her eyes, it was only to find herself dry and on dry land, the river nowhere to be seen, the memory fading into forever. Head spinning, she stood up, only for someone to collide smack bang into her, knocking her down again. Feeling like she'd been brained by a brick, she staggered to her feet, using an obliging tree as support.

"You oaf!" she snapped at the someone, only to do another double-take at seeing it was Flynn. Yet at the same time, it wasn't Flynn, the effect making Clara go cross-eyed slightly. The Flynn who wasn't Flynn groaned, Clara rolling him onto his back, so she could get a better look at him. She stooped down, brow furrowing, not understanding except that Flynn didn't wear spectacles, nor would he be caught dead in _that_ shirt, some boring beige affair teamed with the type of jacket she'd only ever seen geography teachers wear.

"Whoarthyou?" he said blearily, Clara noticing with some shock his extreme side parting, something Flynn had always sneered at in other males not fortunate enough to have his head of thick hair.

"When did you have a receding hairline?" Clara said, bewildered. "And are you wearing _jeans?_ " she asked, appalled.

Before Flynn could answer her, Jacob came stalking out of the trees, brandishing an AK-47. "Hands on your head!" he ordered in some incomprehensible accent, making Clara do yet another double-take.

" _Jake!?_ " she squeaked, taking a step back.

"Hands on your head _now!_ " Jacob bellowed, finger curling round the trigger, forcing Flynn to his feet.

Clara grabbed her head, Flynn doing the same, only facing the other way from her.

"Turn around!" Jacob snapped.

Flynn faced the opposite direction, Clara doing the same.

"Turn around!" Jacob spat in Flynn's face, forcing him in the same direction as Clara. "Now move!" he said, kicking Flynn up the backside, sending him stumbling forwards.

"Hey!" Clara snapped over her shoulder at Jacob. "Keep your feet off my property!"

" _Excuse me!?_ " Flynn gasped, outrageously offended.

"Drop the maiden aunt routine," Clara said, rolling her eyes, "you're not fooling anyone, and that applies to your dodgy accent as well," she flung at Jacob, who just ignored her, kicking Flynn up the backside again.

"What did I say about feet and property!?" Clara repeated, beginning to lose her temper. She didn't know what the hell was happening, but it didn't give Jacob the excuse to indulge in some arse-kicking.

"I'm not with her by the way," Flynn said to Jacob who just ignored him as well, "just so you know."

"What!?" Clara said in disbelief. "I am with you!"

"I don't think so," Flynn said primly, edging away from her.

"We're together," Clara said, panicking now, something about his side parting starting to unsettle her, "like baked beans and toast together!"

"Who are _you?_ " Flynn asked again, looking at her like she was mad.

 _Don't lose who you are in the blur of the stars_ _  
_ _Seeing is deceiving, dreaming is believing…_


	5. The Shitteth Hitteth The Fanneth

**The Shitteth Hitteth The Fanneth**

"You are in charge!" one of Jacob's minions yelled in Flynn's face, his spit flecking the air, making Flynn's nostrils wrinkle in frightened disgust.

"I'm not in charge," Flynn repeated nervously as several of his colleagues were frogmarched past, hands raised in the air, AK-47s trained on their backs. Clara kept her own gaze fixed on the ground, discreetly wrestling with her bonds, the sweat dripping down her spine. Jacob had disappeared into a nearby tent, probably to bathe in blood and recline on couches made from the flesh of beautiful women, if Clara were to judge by his vampiric accent.

"You _are_ in charge!" the minion bellowed, slapping Flynn, sending his spectacles sideways.

"Would you put another record on!?" Clara snapped, losing all self control. "If he says he's not in charge, he isn't in charge, savvy!?"

"Be quiet!" the minion spat, ramming his face into hers, trying and failing to stare Clara down.

"I _am_ in charge," Flynn said hastily, straightening his spectacles, "but not of whatever you think I'm in charge of."

"Then vat _are_ you in charge of?" the minion hissed, straightening up.

"I'm in charge of the archaeological dig," Flynn said in a rush, "I have a lot of responsibilities - I mean, I'm more of a supervisor slash Professor" -

\- "Professor of vat?" the minion demanded.

"That is a _fascinating_ story," Flynn said pompously, perking up, "I actually hold the record of PHDs, more of a student of learning than any kind of discipline or doctrine, but I like to think of myself more as a" -

\- "He's going to shut up now," Clara said hastily, elbowing Flynn in the side as the minion raised his machine gun, aiming it at Flynn's face.

"This area is closed to all foreigners," the minion spat, "including American and European scum."

"Closed until when?" Clara dared to ask, trying to get a grip of the situation. She still didn't know what the hell was going on, her memory a mixture of blank spaces and broken pieces, making her feel like she'd been flung headfirst down the rabbit hole. Everything was happening too fast, what with Jacob turning Translyvanian, and Flynn in full on geography teacher mode, neither one of them not seeming to know her either. Whatever hold she had on this world was rapidly slipping, and she couldn't afford to fall.

"Until the Board resolves the dispute," the minion snarled, rounding on her.

This made no sense to Clara whatsoever, but it was another nugget of information to add to her slowly growing store. There was an archaeological dig, and there was a dispute over the aforementioned archaeological dig. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it was a start of sorts.

"Give me your papers," the minion demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"My hands are tied," Clara pointed out, hiding her unease with sarcasm, not liking the way he was looking at her.

"I vill just have to search you then," the minion said coldly.

"There's nothing to find."

"Let me be the judge of that," the minion retorted, his gaze raking her.

"Well, _my_ papers are right here," Flynn said hurriedly, pulling out his passport.

The minion snatched it from him, his mouth twisting into a bitter sneer. "I'll deal with you later, darlink," he leered at Clara, before leaving, signalling one of the other minions to stand guard. Time ticked past, Flynn humming to himself, getting on Clara's last nerve.

"You really don't know me?" Clara suddenly asked Flynn, startling him.

"No, I really don't," he said, edging away from her again, "I mean, I'm not even supposed to be here - they said to me, _go out into the field and get your hands dirty, Flynn_ , and I said I'd do it, and I have allergies, you know? But I was up for the challenge - I'm very big on broadening my horizons" -

\- "Don't you remember Venice?" Clara said, cutting across his tangent, her voice cracking. "That sunset? You said we'd tell our grandchildren about that sunset" -

\- "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Flynn said, backing away from her, almost falling off his seat, " _grandchildren?_ "

Clara just looked at him, her sky starting to fall.

"I'm very flattered," Flynn said, trying not to panic, "but I consider myself married to my work" -

\- "Vestern spies!" the minion screamed, stalking over to them.

"Oh golly," Clara breathed, face paling. "The shitteth is now hitteth the fanneth."

 _Baby, you understand me now?_ _  
_ _If sometimes you see that I'm mad_ _  
_ _Don't you know, no one alive can always be an angel?_ _  
_ _When everything goes wrong, you see some bad…_


	6. No And Never

**No And Never**

"Get up, girl," the minion spat, hauling Clara upwards. "You come vith me!"

Before Clara could protest, he was dragging her away, his fingers digging into her flesh, Clara digging her heels in, only to no avail.

"L-l-let her go," Flynn whispered, but nobody heeded him. As Clara was shoved through a far off tent flap, the minion following her, he closed his eyes, trying to work up his non-existent nerve. "I said let her go!" he squeaked, setting off after them, his fists clenching feebly by his sides. But as he moved, somebody slammed a rifle butt into his stomach, knocking him to his knees. " _Ow_ ," he groaned, clutching his middle, the tears springing to his eyes. Several minions surrounded him, raising their rifles in the direction of his head, faces made uniform by their sneers.

"Get away from him!" Clara screamed, appearing out of nowhere, brandishing a handgun, forcing the minions to back off. In the tent, her own minion had got a little fresh after cutting her bonds, Clara letting him, just enough to get close so she could head-butt him in the face, a technique Eve had taught her so long ago. Head reeling, she'd snatched the handgun out of his belt, the minion clutching his gushing nose, the satisfying click of it breaking still ringing through the air.

"You fink you can vin fis?" the minion snickered, circling her, still clutching his nose.

Clara glanced round at the guns surrounding her and Flynn, knowing she was hopelessly outnumbered, but refusing to accept the odds. But as she did, a minion suddenly flew overhead, landing in a dazed pile nearby, another minion then whizzing past her nose, slamming into several minions, knocking them down like ninepins. "What in the name of Long John's long johns" - Clara began, only to duck as yet another minion sailed through the air, colliding with her own personal minion, sending him sprawling.

"It's the Scarlet Pimpernel!" Flynn screamed, completely losing his head as a thickset figure dashed past them, double punching two minions in the face, his own face concealed by a red cloth wound round his head. But Clara would know those bright blue eyes from anywhere, and suddenly the world was making sense again, returning her to life. Dragging Flynn to his feet, she grabbed his rather sweaty hand, hauling him along as she chased Jacob through the trees, leaving the camp behind, almost hunting him down.

"Jake!" she hissed, but he just signalled her to follow him, ducking and diving between the branches. After several almost lung-exploding moments of more running, Jacob finally slowed to a stop, Clara stumbling to a halt in front of him, Flynn falling to his knees, clutching his chest. "You okay, big guy?" Jacob asked, carefully unwinding the cloth from his face.

"Inhaler," Flynn wheezed, his face bright red, eyes bulging. "I-need-my-inhaler!"

"But you're not asthmatic," Clara said, brow furrowing.

Jacob patted his pockets down before pulling out a blue inhaler. "Here you go," he said, hastily handing it over to Flynn.

"But you're not asthmatic!" Clara repeated, bewildered now.

"You know him?" Jacob said, frowning.

"Don't you?" Clara retorted, the world starting to seem like nonsense again.

"Never seen him before in my life," Jacob said, looking at her like she was mad.

"You saved us," Flynn breathed, looking at Jacob like he was God.

"I did indeed," Jacob said, stowing the cloth away in his pocket.

"But who are _you?_ " Flynn asked, eyes alight with wonder.

"Would you stop saying that!?" Clara snapped.

"I'm the Librarian," Jacob said, staring moodily into the distance.

"Alright, this isn't a perfume advert, pal," Clara snapped, snapping her fingers in front of Jacob's face.

"What's with you, Hartley?" Jacob snapped back, not appreciating having his parade rained upon. "First you nearly blow our cover" -

\- "Hold up," Clara said, beyond bewildered now. "What cover? And how do you know me, and not Flynn" -

Jacob just shook his head, before suddenly sliding his hand up the back of her neck, his lips crushing hers, stunning her into silence. For several long moments, there was just a dull roar in Clara's ears, Jacob unlocking the secret door, and then she was shoving him away from her, just before the key made its final turn in the lock. "No," she whispered, backing away from him, "and never, Jake. You know that!" she suddenly screamed, startling him, Flynn throwing his arms over his head, cowering from Clara.

"Clara!" Jacob protested, but she took off amongst the trees, blinded by tears, not knowing where she was going, except that she had to get away from what her world had become.

 _It's not easy for me to talk about  
A half-life in lost dreams  
And it's not simple, it's trigonometry  
It's hard to express  
I can't explain…_


	7. Crawl Home To Her

**Crawl Home To Her**

"Come on, get in!" Jacob ordered, clapping his hands together. "More troops are on their way!" As Flynn's colleagues hastily clambered into the Jeep, Jacob strode over to Flynn, ignoring Clara's dirty looks. After dragging Clara back to camp, Jacob had proceeded to liberate the other prisoners, Flynn falling upon his colleagues' necks with tearful joy, apologizing profusely for bringing them to the inner circle of hell. "Hey big guy, can I have a word?" he said to Flynn, folding his arms across his chest.

"Jacob, my friend and saviour," Flynn beamed, clasping his shoulder, "how may I help you after you helped me?"

Jacob pondered this for a moment, genuinely tempted. He wanted to know why Clara had said she was with Flynn, her strange food analogy about baked beans and toast confusing him, but as he studied Flynn's long drooping nose and receding hairline, Jacob reassured himself there was no competition; that Clara was probably suffering from sunstroke, dragging Flynn into her delusions. "I just wanted to say you shouldn't have brought your research team out here," he reproved, "this is a war-zone. It's no place for civilians."

"I was tempted into trouble by history," Flynn admitted, exhaling sharply, "lured onto the rocks by ancient Goth marking stones" -

\- "Mystical stones?" Jacob said, grabbing Flynn's arm, every inch of him alert. "Where?"

"D-d-down the road," Flynn stuttered, feeling his bones were about to break.

"C'mon Clara," Jacob ordered, striding over to her, Flynn massaging his arm, wincing. Jacob Stone, the Librarian, all round hero, had a grip like death. Flynn just _knew_ he was going to wake up with a bruise tomorrow.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Clara snapped, backing away from him, her gaze finding Flynn's, the desperate look in her dark eyes reluctantly tugging at his heart-strings. Flynn just wasn't used to receiving attention from women, especially English ones who appeared out of nowhere, all but declaring their love for him. He theorized Clara was probably cracked, and perhaps a little short-sighted; for Flynn there was no other explanation for her bizarre behaviour. But despite this, her pathetic plight appealed to his chivalrous instincts, slowly breaking down his barriers, making him waver like a wafer towards her.

"We have a ley-line to locate," Jacob said, grabbing her hand, "so get your head in the game, Guardian."

* * *

" _Guardian!?_ " Clara said in disbelief, tearing her hand out of his.

"Yup," Jacob said, grabbing her other hand, "and we've got a busy day in the office ahead of us."

"Magic isn't real," Flynn said pompously, avoiding Jacob's angry glance, becoming very interested in his bootlace instead. He knew he wasn't wanted here, his refusal to leave with his colleagues suddenly losing him the ground he'd gained with Jacob. But something about the combination of Clara's desperate gaze and Goth marking stones was again proving too much to resist. If Clara needed saving, he would save her, and if there was an archaeological discovery to be made on the way, he would make it. This heroic impulse made him puff out his chest, his eye catching Clara's, making her smile despite herself.

"All you had to do was point us in the right direction, bub," Jacob said, eyes narrowing, not missing this bit of byplay.

"When did you start calling people _bub!?_ " Clara retorted, stung out of her silence.

"As of now," Jacob said, puffing out his own chest.

"Just call him Logan," Flynn joked half-heartedly, his X-Men reference going right over Clara's head.

"You're a Professor, not a comedian," Jacob snapped at Flynn, "so stick to the textbooks, _bub_."

"And I'm _your_ Guardian," Clara said, rounding on Jacob. "How did that happen?"

"The real Librarian faked his death so I took the job," Jacob said, looking at her like she was mad, "after I trained you up, you came onboard as Guardian, and we've been savin' the world ever since. It helps keep our relationship fresh and excitin'," he said sarcastically, taking out a compass.

"We are not in a relationship," Clara spat, "and I'm most definitely not your Guardian either!"

"Yeah, we are, Clara," Jacob spat back, "we live in the Metropolitan Library, remember? Cosy little flat just above the Reference section, with space for a nursery" -

\- "A nursery!?" Clara said, her eyes going wide.

"You're gonna retire," Jacob said, tears suddenly springing to his eyes, "and I would jobshare - we have it all planned out, Clara. I mean, the weddin's next month, kids are the next logical step. That's what you said, that you wanted to be a stay at home mom" -

\- "I was offered a job with the Metropolitan Library," Flynn said, tugging at his tie, "but I never turned up for the interview. Not my kind of thing."

Clara stared at him, her lip trembling. "You idiot," she breathed, backing away from Flynn, shaking her head at him.

"What!?" Flynn said, doing a double-take. "What did I do!?"

"You're him, and he's you," Clara said, gesturing between him and Jacob, confusing Flynn further, "and I'm not the Guardian, Eve is, and I'm with him, not you," she said, turning to Jacob, gesturing to Flynn.

"What, Goofy's the Librarian, and he's got you on his arm?" Jacob said in disbelief.

"I'm a Librarian too - I mean so are you," Clara said, feeling like she was digging herself into a hole, "the four of us are Librarians, you, me, Cass and Zeke, but Flynn is like _the_ Librarian"-

\- "Eve's dead, Clara," Jacob said abruptly. "Been dead a long time too."

"What?" Clara said, taking a step back.

"She took a sword in the side for you," Jacob said, his voice cracking, "shoved you out of the way, saved your life. That's - that's why you became the Guardian, Clara. It was your way of honourin' her. We're - we were gonna name our first daughter after her."

Clara shook her head, not understanding, and not wanting to. "You became Librarian because the first Librarian faked his own death," she said slowly, struggling to stay calm, "and Eve was your Guardian, savvy?"

"Yeah," Jacob said, stepping forwards, "you and me had just started datin' when I got the letter. Everythin' was okay for a few years, then Eve died, and it all changed."

"Everything's changed," Clara said brokenly, her gaze finding Flynn's.

* * *

As they stood there, staring at each other, the wrong parts of the puzzle, distant gunshots rang through the air, making Flynn throw himself to the ground, arms wrapped around his head. "C'mon, the markers!" Jacob bellowed, grabbing Clara's hand, hauling her on, Clara grabbing Flynn's tie, dragging him with her, almost strangling him. After a few minutes of almost slow motion jogging, they finally reached a clearing, Clara stopping dead the sight of the circle of stones.

"The Black Forest," she breathed, remembering a past that no longer existed.

"I've seen these stones in South America, Egypt, Holland," Jacob reeled off, "but what their purpose is, I dunno" -

\- "How did we meet, Jake?" Clara asked suddenly, turning to him.

Jacob looked at her for a long moment, before shaking his head, exhaling sharply. "I was takin' night classes in Medieval and Renaissance Studies," he said, tears springing to his eyes again, "I'd skipped college to work for my dad, but when he died, I sold the business - I - I couldn't live with the lie anymore, pretendin' to be somethin' I wasn't. So I started studyin' and that's when I saw you, most beautiful woman I ever seen, with an amazin' accent and brains to boot. I gave you my number, we went for a beer, and the rest was history."

"I don't drink beer," Clara said coldly.

"Well, my Clara did," Jacob snapped, jabbing his finger at her.

"Um, there's gunshots and angry people firing the aforementioned gunshots," Flynn said nervously, wringing his hands.

"You said Eve saved my life," Clara demanded, ignoring Flynn. "What happened that day she died?"

Jacob ran his hand over his head, rumpling up his hair, the gesture suddenly triggering something in Clara, the memory of her own hands doing the exact same thing. But it wasn't her memory, and it wasn't her either. It was a whole other Clara altogether, one she didn't want to know. "She stopped your mother from stealin' the Library," he said, making Clara freeze, "she and Dulaque had been havin' it off behind your dad's back, whilst plannin' to take the Library from right under his nose."

Clara suddenly sat down on a stone, her legs giving way beneath her, Flynn trying and failing to catch her.

"You really don't know any of this?" Jacob said, his voice cracking as he knelt down beside her.

Clara shook her head, unable to speak.

"Judson runs the Annex now," Jacob said slowly, as though she was an imbecile, "he's slowin' down a bit, so your dad and Charlene took over the Library. It was your dad that put me forward for the job, the Library sendin' me a letter at his behest. Charlene weren't too happy about me gettin' in through the back door, but your dad thinks rules are made to be broken, so there you go. But your mom and Dulaque tried to take the Library, and you walked in on them, tried to stop them. Your mom... your mom went for you with Excalibur, and Eve" -

\- "What happened to my mother and Dulaque?" Clara choked out, barely able to speak, Flynn handing her his handkerchief.

"They went on the run," Jacob said, exhaling sharply again. "Been tryin' to track them down ever since, but it's like chasin' smoke. Now there's magic in the world and I can't do damn all about it 'cept damage control."

"Magic doesn't exist," Flynn said smartly.

"They did that?" Clara said, ignoring Flynn again. "They set magic loose?"

"I did say you _tried_ to stop them," Jacob said tiredly, standing up. "Now technology's failin', monsters are risin', wars breakin' out"-

\- "What, and you're letting me bring a baby into this world!?" Clara said in disbelief, the tears rolling down her face in earnest now. "I'm retiring and you're planning on going part-time!? Are you insane!?"

"Gotta snatch happiness while we can," Jacob said, "before somebody snatches it from us."

"These are the wrong kind of trees," Flynn said suddenly, startling them.

"What?" Jacob snapped, stalking over to him.

"I'm just saying the native species of tree on this side of the Ukraine would be the oak or the hornbeam," Flynn said pompously, plucking a leaf, "not these pine-trees which are completely out of place."

"And your point is?" Jacob growled.

"There's a pattern amongst the pine-trees," Flynn said, gesturing about him, "and these gunshots are definitely getting closer," he said anxiously, glancing over his shoulder.

"What are those metal spikes?" Clara said shakily, gesturing at the stones with Flynn's handkerchief. "I've never seen them before."

"For resonance," Jacob said, his jaw tightening.

"Why?" Clara pressed, wiping her eyes.

"It's a teleportation device," Jacob explained, kicking a stone.

"Teleportation doesn't exist," Flynn said loftily, before screaming like a banshee as several bullets suddenly whizzed past his head, striking the stones behind him. "I'm too young to die!" he screeched, running wildly in circles, rather like a headless chicken.

Jacob looked at Clara, his heart breaking in his eyes. Without a word, he suddenly turned and thumped the nearest metal spike, setting off the teleportation sequence, waves of golden energy surging through the air. "Self-enforcing harmonic resonance," he yelled, striding forwards, rolling up his sleeves.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Clara cried, falling to her knees, the wind whipping the hair into her eyes.

"I'm savin' you!" he bellowed, meeting the gunmen head on, armed with only his bare hands.

"Jacob, no!" Clara screamed, only to fade out of existence as the bullets ended his.

 _When my, time comes around_  
 _Lay me gently in the cold dark earth_  
 _No grave, can hold my body down_  
 _I'll crawl home to her…_


	8. Pretty Much Dead Already

**Pretty Much Dead Already**

Clara curled up in a ball on the floor, wrapping her arms around her head, the sound of the gunshots still ringing in her ears. She was shaking from head to foot, the tears silently streaming down her face, Flynn just standing there, head spinning, completely helpless. He'd just been teleported through time and space, after seeing a man shot dead in front of him, and now he was God knew where, stuck with a sobbing stranger who had a whole future planned out with him, grandchildren and all.

"Clara?" he said uncertainly, kneeling down beside her. She glanced up at him, face ravaged, eyes swollen. Without thinking, he reached out and smoothed back her tumbled hair, the gesture strangely natural, as if he had been doing it all his life. "Clara," he said again, his voice cracking, "what's going on?"

Slowly, she lowered her arms from her head, Flynn helping her sit up, leaning against his shoulder for support. "I - I don't know," she whispered, shaking her head, "I think I was in the Annex, and - and there was..." She frowned, struggling to remember, the past slipping through her fingers like sand. "Dulaque," she suddenly breathed, tensing up, "Dulaque was there."

"And?" Flynn prompted gently.

Clara just shook her head again, before breaking down once more, burying her face in her hands.

Flynn just sat there, his own hands shaking, trying to hold himself together. This wasn't his world. He lived in the pages of books, not outside them, seeking shelter within their words. _This_ sort of thing just didn't happen to him. He wasn't hero material; he wasn't anything. He still lived with his mother for crying out loud, and slept in Spiderman pyjamas with the light on. He'd only taken on the job of supervising the archaeological dig as one last ditch at sorting his life out, instead of staying at home, stuffing himself with sherbets and watching Jane Austen serials.

"I'm - I'm still me," Clara said suddenly, making him glance sharply at her, "but - but you're not you, and that - that wasn't Jacob. Yet you _are_ , and Jacob's _dead_ " - She broke down again, wrapping her arms around her head, turning away from Flynn, blocking him out. Somehow this strangely hurt Flynn, even as he denied her as she denied him. He wasn't _her_ Flynn, and she was a stranger, but it didn't stop it stinging.

"Well, whatever I am," Flynn snapped, exhaling sharply, "you seem to be stuck with me, so I suggest you get a grip and come with."

Clara stared at him, shocked.

"This isn't your life," Flynn gasped, now on the edge of taking an asthma attack, "so your precious Jacob isn't dead. He's probably chopping wood somewhere, getting his nice new checked shirt dirty, ready to deliver a calf or two with his bare hands if need be. So if you want to find him again, I suggest you pull your socks up and"-

The rest of his sentence was lost as Clara suddenly kissed him, a desperate embrace that nearly strangled him, knocking his spectacles askew. For several head-spinning moments, Flynn didn't know himself, and then he suddenly shoved her away from him, making her go sideways, insulting every chivalrous impulse he owned. "You're - you're not yourself," he spluttered, searching frantically for his inhaler, "and I'm - I'm not myself either" -

\- "Clara?" Ezekiel said from above them, his face a study of disbelief.

* * *

"We - we teleported," Flynn gabbled, taking a puff from his inhaler, "somehow we accessed the concept of a quantum tunnelling on a macro scale" -

\- "You mean magic, mate," Ezekiel said abruptly. "I mean, that's how you're back from the dead, yeah?" he then fired at Clara, startling her.

"I died?" Clara said, doing a double-take.

"Yeah, you did," Ezekiel snapped, getting up out of his seat.

"I'm sorry, but you are?" Flynn asked pompously, starting to recover himself.

"I'm the Librarian," Ezekiel said coldly, leaning over and tapping out a staccato beat on a nearby computer keyboard, making the screen spring to life, Ezekiel barely glancing at it, only typing even faster, his fingertips flying across the keys like he was playing a piano.

Flynn studied the screen for a moment, the waves of golden energy flickering across it making him feel sea-sick. Instead, he turned to Clara, but the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and pale face only served to make him feel even worse. "What's happening to us?" he asked Ezekiel, taking another puff from his inhaler.

"What do you think?" Ezekiel said sarcastically, running a hand over his slicked back black hair.

"That we're either on an adventure or that we've lost our minds," Flynn said in a rush, sharing a nervous glance with Clara, unconsciously taking her hand under the table for reassurance.

"You're moving sideways between different time-lines," Ezekiel explained, startling them, "each one with a minor difference" -

\- "People are dying!" Clara snapped, the tears springing to her eyes again. "I wouldn't exactly call that a minor difference!"

Ezekiel looked at her, eyes narrowing. " _You_ died," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

"So you keep saying," Clara spat, "and why are you looking at me like that!?" she added hastily, drawing away from him.

"Because you died," Ezekiel repeated in a monotone.

"Wait, we weren't... _involved_ , were we?" Clara asked, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. If so, she was certainly getting around. If Jenkins turned up saying they shared a caravan in Cornwall with two dogs and a talking unicorn, she wouldn't be surprised.

"God no!" Ezekiel exclaimed, looking like he was going to throw up. "You were like a mother to me!"

"I was a what!?" Clara said, doing another double-take.

"Clara says there's another Flynn walking about," Flynn suddenly flung at Ezekiel, hysterically hijacking the conversation, "so if I met myself, would I explode!?" He completely lost his cool then, his voice shaking, the tears welling up, making Clara squeeze his hand in sympathy.

Ezekiel just looked at Flynn like he'd turned into a teapot.

"Was I your Guardian by any chance?" Clara then asked Ezekiel, wincing a little at the prospect.

"Yeah," Ezekiel said, sitting down beside her, "my old Guardian ran off with this good looking Archimedes guy we met in Greece, so you took his place" -

\- "Who was your old Guardian?" Clara demanded, sitting up straight.

"Jacob Stone," Ezekiel said, frowning.

"And I was your Guardian how?" Clara said, gripping Flynn's hand even tighter now, making him wince this time.

"Long story," Ezekiel said flippantly, "but your old boyfriend and his new squeeze" -

\- "Who were they?" Clara said in a rush, feeling like she was falling.

"Dulaque and Cassandra Cillian, some mathematical genius he picked up a STEM science fair they were both judging," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders, "they tried to grab the Library, and Cillian stabbed you in the side" -

\- "Some things never change," Clara breathed, closing her eyes.

"And so you died," Ezekiel finished abruptly, "worst day of my life."

Clara just bit her lip, not knowing what to say.

"Since you're a ghost," he then said suddenly, standing up and going over to a window, "maybe you could help us with our own ghost problem."

"Your what?" Flynn gasped, his skin taking on a strange green tint, like he was going to throw up.

"Welcome to Ghost World," Ezekiel said, opening the blinds, revealing hundreds if not thousands of dead-eyed people far below, the sight stretching into the distance, darkening the horizon.

 _Wriggling around and it's so that you won't forget  
There's certainly some venom in the looks that you collect  
Aimlessly gazing at the faces in the queue  
Struggling with the notion that it's life not film…_

* * *

"How the hell did _that_ happen?" Clara said in disbelief, turning away from the window, her eyes wide with horror.

"There was a house that granted wishes," Ezekiel explained, making Flynn go even greener.

"The killer from the past," Clara remembered, going a little green herself.

"Didn't put her down quite right," Ezekiel said, "her last wish opened a hole in the world and let in all the ghosts" -

\- "Ghosts don't exist," Flynn said wildly, denying what was right in front of him.

"These are real people that are possessed by ghosts," Ezekiel corrected him, raising his voice above the growing din, "in fact, most of the world has been infected now - me and my team are the only ones left."

Clara walked away, wrapping her arms around her head. She couldn't do this anymore, not on her own. This wasn't her life; she had no place in what was left of the world. As she made for a far corner to curl up and hide in, stumbling past Ezekiel's desk as she moved, her eye was caught by a framed picture lying on its side, as if just put down. She picked it up with shaking hands, her gaze studying the subject in disbelief, her eyes growing wide with shock. It depicted a teenage Ezekiel with his arm flung around Clara's shoulders, but not the Clara she was, Clara almost not recognizing herself, unable to understand she had pink hair and a nose ring.

"They were good times," Ezekiel said from behind Clara, making her whirl around.

"But I'm wearing _dungarees_ ," Clara choked out.

"I know," Ezekiel reluctantly grinned, "you look like a children's TV presenter."

"It seems I can't escape having candyfloss curls though," Clara said bitterly, setting the photo back down.

"You were a good Guardian, Clara," Ezekiel said tiredly, rumpling up his hair, "and my best mate. But that Clara isn't you, so..." He glanced at the ground, his jaw working. "So we need to figure out what's going on," he said abruptly, suddenly heading over to another computer.

"How did that Clara become a Guardian anyways?" Clara pressed, following him, Flynn following her, still looking slightly green around the edges.

"Judson saved that Clara when she was a baby," Ezekiel said, dancing his fingers over the keyboard again, "she was gonna be sacrificed in some ritual or something. He raised her as his daughter, trained her up as a Guardian so she could take care of herself and the Library after he was long gone. She was engaged to the Librarian before me, but he died, and she became my Guardian instead."

"Who was the Librarian before you?" Clara said quietly, her fists clenching by her sides, not trusting herself to look at Flynn.

Ezekiel just shrugged his shoulders, still typing furiously, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "She didn't like to talk about it," he said, scrunching up his eyes, "and since it was none of my business, I never pushed it."

There was a long silence, Clara biting her lip, trying to hold herself together. "So what do we do now?" she asked, pushing the hair out of her eyes.

"I'm still working on that part," Ezekiel admitted, not meeting her questioning gaze.

"So this is it, then?" Flynn said hysterically, flinging his hands up in the air.

"Looks like it, mate," Ezekiel said tiredly, his fingers finally falling still. "We're pretty much dead already."


	9. My Thoughts For My Fears

**My Thoughts For My Fears**

"Flynn, you need to calm down," Clara said, trying and failing in vain to take his red pen from him. For the past fifteen minutes, Flynn had been graffiting the walls of Ezekiel's office, after having thrown some kind of temper tantrum, snatching up a pen and scribbling scientific equations across the walls like an out of control toddler, his breath coming in short bursts, his hands shaking, making his writing unreadable.

"How can I calm down!?" Flynn choked out, his spectacles askew, his knees trembling. "We're trapped in the last bastion of civilization, our fading hope in the hands of a crazy Kiwi" -

\- "I'm Australian, mate," Ezekiel corrected him, coolly peeling a banana.

"You have to get a grip of yourself," Clara said, grabbing Flynn by his tie, forcing him to stop scribbling. "I can't do this by myself!"

"This isn't happening," Flynn whispered, closing his eyes, "this isn't happening" -

\- "It is happening, Flynn!" Clara cried, yanking his tie like a lead.

"No, it isn't," Flynn snapped, yanking himself free.

"You used to love this kind of thing," Clara said, the tears springing to her eyes, "you used to love" - She stopped, unable to finish her sentence, because he'd never said those three fatal words, and neither had she. Now it was too late for both of them. Flynn would never know how much she cared, how much she still did.

Flynn studied her for a moment, his chin wobbling threateningly. Exhaling sharply, he set the pen down, before straightening his spectacles. "I just want to go home, Clara," he said quietly, his voice cracking, "back to my books, to the life I know."

"Looks like you're on your own, kid," Ezekiel said to Clara, biting off a piece of banana.

"Think, Clara, think," Clara muttered, pacing the floor in circles, massaging her temples, "it's right in front of you, hidden in plain sight..." She glanced up at Flynn, her brow furrowing, making him back away from her. "Why did you not go to that interview?" she asked, advancing on him. "The one that was at the Metropolitan Library, the one you so stupidly skipped" -

\- "Because I didn't want to," Flynn said pettishly, "I - I knew myself, what I was good at, where I felt comfortable."

"You gotta get out of your comfort zone some time though," Ezekiel said, frowning. "Otherwise, you'll just... stagnate."

"I'd rather stagnate than die," Flynn flared up. "It was my choice, and I chose it."

"We choose," Clara whispered, staring down at her bloodstained hands.

"What?" Flynn said, looking at her like she was mad.

"He cut history," Clara said in a monotone.

"Who whattted what?" Ezekiel said, chucking his banana in the bin.

Clara shook her head, only to see her skin no longer stained with crimson, the past retreating from her again.

"Wait up," Ezekiel said, eying Clara like she was a specimen he'd very much like to study, "who cut history?"

Clara just stared at him, startled.

" _Okaaay_... let's try another angle," Ezekiel said, circling her, "start from the beginning. Tell me how you ended up at the end of the world."

Clara sat down, not quite knowing where to start. Shakily, she recounted all that she could recall, Dulaque, the Annex and all that came after, Flynn, Jacob, his death, making the tears roll down Clara's face again.

"The Jake I knew preferred blondes, not brunettes," Ezekiel frowned, this piece of petty trivia irritating Clara.

"Maybe in that other timeline I decided that blondes had more fun," Clara snapped, angrily dashing away her tears with the back of her hand. "And anyways, the Jake _I_ knew" -

\- "The Jake _I_ knew liked to dabble," Ezekiel impatiently cut across her, "he would flirt with anything that had a pulse."

"Is this argument going anywhere by any chance!?" Flynn interjected, holding up his hand like a traffic warden.

"No, it isn't," Ezekiel said abruptly, "but it serves to highlight what is absorbent coefficient and what isn't. Dulaque, Clara and the Library are our three constants, which leads me to theorize they are what started this, and they are what will finish it."

But as he spoke, there was the distant sound of a door being broken down, a chorus of screams rising, making Flynn turn to Ezekiel, his face draining of colour. "Would you like to rephrase that last part about what will finish us off?" he squeaked, before falling down in a dead faint.

 _I turn my head, there's nothing there_ _  
_ _All I own is my thoughts for my fears_ _  
_ _I close the door to keep out the bad_ _  
_ _I plug my ears to keep out these fears…_


	10. Bon Voyage

**Bon Voyage**

"Mr. Jones, they're here!" one of the scientists yelled as they threw themselves through the doorway, Clara throwing a glass of water over Flynn, making him splutter back into consciousness.

"Whangamanga!" Flynn sputtered, shaking his wet hair dry like a dog.

"It's time to make tracks, troops," Clara said smartly, hauling him to his feet.

Flynn staggered, his eyes rolling back in his head, Clara rolling her own eyes, grabbing his tie and dragging him forth like a dog on a lead for the umpteenth time, the gesture becoming quite the tradition.

"I would really appreciate any ideas you might have," Ezekiel fired at Clara, wringing his hands, losing his customary cool.

"Modulate your power up to fifty three per cent," Flynn gasped, grabbing a desk for support, "and at the same time, see if you can raise it into the Clevenger field effect range" -

\- "I have no idea what you're talking about," Ezekiel said, backing away from him.

"Just do as he says," Clara ordered the scientists, overruling Ezekiel, making what was left of his team spring into action.

"It's the Odic force," Flynn wheezed, "the Clevenger field is where telepathy occurs - see what I'm thinking!?" He broke down into manic laughter, making Clara glance sharply at him, suddenly reminded of the old insane Flynn. For a moment he was there with her, as though he'd never been gone, but then Flynn doubled over, bursting into hysterical tears, shattering the illusion.

"Flynn!" she snapped, shaking him by the shoulders, making the teeth rattle in his head. "Get a grip!"

"If magic exists in this reality, what you have is a spirit energy overlay," he wept, "the Odic force" -

\- "My speciality is tech and security," Ezekiel shouted above the screams, "not obscure Victorian occult phenomena" -

\- "History is your blind spot," Clara said, rounding on Ezekiel, "and that's why you're in this mess in the first place! You never saw the bigger picture!"

Ezekiel stared at her, like he was seeing her for the first time.

"Team Jones, keep doing what this man is telling you!" Ezekiel ordered, straightening his lab coat before stalking down the stairs, leaving Clara standing on her own with the still sobbing Flynn.

"Team Jones, give me your shoelaces!" Flynn suddenly cried, grabbing a handful of sparking wires, startling Clara.

As they obeyed him, chucking shoelaces at his head, Clara took off after Ezekiel, only to stop dead at the sight of him trying to hold back the dead with a whiteboard. Grabbing him by the shirt collar, she dragged him back up the stairs, just as the whiteboard gave way, Ezekiel letting out a yelp as he missed a step, falling backwards, knocking Clara over at the same time, the dead descending -

"Begone foul apparitions!" Flynn intoned, brandishing what appeared to be a hose constructed of plaited wire and shoelaces connected to the computer mainframe, before flicking a switch and scrunching up his eyes, spraying sparks like water, electrocuting the undead. As they trembled like blancmanges, his contraption suddenly exploded, sending him flying backwards, head over heels, the dead collapsing at the same time.

"Flynn!?" Clara cried, crawling over to him, turning him over. His face was still, almost slack, but then a snore escaped his lips, a strange ululating sound that made Clara slump forwards with relief.

"He did it!" Ezekiel exclaimed in disbelief, making Clara glance over her shoulder at him. All around them, the living awoke from their long slumber, the dead slipping back into the shadows where they belonged. As everyone started cheering and hugging each other, Ezekiel stood up, smoothing back his hair. "I want full data on that energy spike," he ordered his team, before marching over to Flynn, and slapping him awake.

"Whangatankatonka?" Flynn said blearily, swaying from side to side.

"You just saved the world, you blithering idiot," Ezekiel snapped, slapping him again.

"I did?" Flynn said, confused. "With what?"

"A wooden spoon," Ezekiel said, deadpan.

"Really?" Flynn said, impressed against his will.

"No, with magic," Ezekiel said, rolling his eyes, "and some shoelaces."

"It was more misunderstood mathematics," Flynn said primly, picking up his spectacles, before stumbling to his feet.

"Flynn, you're fading," Clara said suddenly, making him freeze.

"So are you," Ezekiel said, taking a step back.

Clara glanced down at her hands, only to see they were see-through. "What in the name of Long John's long johns is happening!?" she demanded, not understanding why Ezekiel was grinning. "What's so funny?" she spat, grabbing Flynn's hand, only for it slip out of her non-existent grasp.

"I haven't heard you say that for a long time," Ezekiel said, rumpling up his hair, "the long John thing."

Clara just stared at him, the tears springing to her eyes.

"I'm melting!" Flynn wailed, falling to his knees.

"No, you're travelling between time-lines again," Ezekiel explained, circling them, "so I guess it's bon voyage..." As he spoke, they faded out of existence completely, leaving only empty space behind, Ezekiel Jones alone once more.


	11. The Tenth Circle Of Hell

**The Tenth Circle Of Hell**

" _Oh no_ ," Clara breathed in dismay, looking around her, recognizing the dingy courtyard, ramshackle shed and overflowing trash cans, the smell of onions turning the air rancid. She'd spent two years of her life here, slaving over a hot stove and serving customers for starvation wages, the recession having sent her teaching career down the drain, driving her into cleaning dishes for a living instead. It wasn't a case of pride; she wasn't above humbly earning an honest crust, but there had been something soul-destroying in working at _Hurricane Anne's Breezy Bistro_ and no longer _Bookshop,_ what with her manager's withering put-downs and the customers wandering hands.

"What is it?" Flynn asked urgently, grabbing her hand. "What fresh hell is this?"

"It's where I used to work as a waitress," Clara said, knotting her fingers through his, holding onto all she had left.

"What-a-what?" Flynn said, confused, his sideways spectacles making him look strangely adorable to Clara's eyes. Without thinking, she dropped a kiss on his knuckles, making Flynn blink rapidly like an oversized owl, but other than that, he accepted her affection, realising there was no point in fighting his fate anymore. The mystery of whoever or whatever that had pulled them together, just simply couldn't compete with the ever increasingly powerful pull he felt towards Clara, making him think this was meant to be.

"I was a waitress here," Clara said tiredly, letting go of his hand, sitting down on an overturned crate instead. "After they cut the funding to my department, my contract wasn't renewed, and I had to seek alternative employment. But there's not a big demand for lecturers in obscure subjects, and I couldn't bear the idea of teaching in a secondary school - I would be chewed up and spat out like a piece of chewing gum. So here I am, in the tenth circle of hell, waitressing in a downtown dump."

"I've taught in all kinds of places, high schools included," Flynn said, sitting down beside her, "they're not that bad."

"Professor Carsen," Clara said, trying the title out for size. She had never used her own academic title during her time at the Library, following Flynn's example, feeling she would be drawing unnecessary attention to herself.

"Dr. Hartley," Flynn said, making her glance sharply at him.

"How did you know that?" she asked, brows drawing together.

"Call it an educated guess," Flynn said, exhaling sharply.

For a moment, they sat there in silence, the stink of onions become increasingly stronger, then the sound of voices made them tense up, Clara and Flynn looking at each other, before she suddenly shoved him in the direction of the broken down shed, miming at him to hide. Pressing her back against the wall, wrinkling her nose at the smell of cigarette smoke, Clara held her breath, eavesdropping shamelessly in order to make some sense of the situation they were in.

"Where's 'er Ladyship?" a voice asked, its harsh burr making Clara wince in recognition, remembering Dana with her claw-like crimson nails and blonde bouffant curls, reigning in the kitchen like some chanteuse from the Seventies who had once ruled the charts, refusing to accept her heyday was over.

"Phoned in sick," her companion said abruptly, Clara closing her eyes, fighting the revulsion rising in her. It was Tiana, her manager, or 'momager', as she called herself, bizarrely proud of her childbearing hips, bringing her brats into work to add to Clara's workload, always asking her to keep an eye on them. When Clara had dared to complain about the customers groping her, Tiana had ordered her to put up with it in order to keep the customers happy, because _how else was she supposed to turn a profit?_ She hadn't hired Clara on the strength of her college education, but for her pretty face, even if she did have skinny hips.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Sheba," Dana drawled, making Tiana snort like a pig.

"She thinks she's all that," Tiana said scornfully, "lookin' down us like we is shit on her shoe. But I've got people quein' round the block to work in here, so she better watch her step, or I is turfin' her out."

"You're an entrepreneur, Tiana," Dana said firmly, "so you have to act like one, honey. She's a threat to your success, so I would kick her to the kerb sooner rather than later."

"But she draws the boys in," Tiana said uneasily, referring to the blue-collared men who formed most of her clientele, "that's what makes me think twice about turfin' her out."

As they prattled on, Clara leaned her head back against the wall, thoughts flying furiously through her mind. But instead of focusing on trying to work out whose time-line she'd crossed now, whether it was her own or another's, all she could remember was her first encounter with the Library, Flynn's insistence that it would be her last, that she had a life to go back to, ordering Charlene to ensure she still had a job waiting for her. But events hadn't worked out the way he wanted, and here she was, entangled in a trainwreck of a timeline that threatened to erase her whole existence.

Her whole life had changed the second Flynn had skipped her in the Starbucks queue, but what would have happened if he hadn't? Would she have been trapped in a dead-end job, her life a downward spiral of debts and depression? Or would she have died, murdered by Lamia, another faceless victim that Flynn had failed to save? There was only one way to find out, and so she stepped out from behind the wall, facing those she had thought she'd long left behind, the past returning to haunt her.

 _Sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise_ _  
_ _Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised_ _  
_ _Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it_ _  
_ _Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it…_


	12. Frank Sinatra's Skinny Ass

**Frank Sinatra's Skinny Ass**

 _Clutching the steering wheel and crying aloud  
But your voice on the airwaves drowns me out  
Crazy to think that since five am, all I see is green eyes and I'm lost in them  
But I get it she's tall and she's pretty and blonde, but she'll never love you like I could…_

Clara hesitated in the kitchen doorway, ignoring Tiana's impatient tut from behind her, unable to take another step forwards. After making Dana almost choke on her cigarette in shock, Tiana had hustled Clara through the back door, giving her a dressing down of epic proportions. Now she was here, holding a tray, her hair dragged back in a high ponytail, wearing a bright blue waitress uniform that made her look like a demented air hostess, the length of the skirt not leaving much to the imagination. Normally, she would have worn a frilly white blouse and tight black skirt with heels, a pen tucked behind her ear, but now everything had changed, and not just the clothes.

The bistro was now a diner, with a jukebox in the corner spitting out Elvis songs every thirty seconds, making Clara's ears ache. Customers crowded out the booths, sharing ice-cream sundaes, or nursing lukewarm coffees. They were a mixture of young and old, students and construction workers, the latter eying Clara lasciviously, making her heart sink in her chest. Some things hadn't changed after all.

"Get your skates on," Tiana ordered, making Clara start violently, nearly dropping her tray of iced teas.

"Sorry," Clara said hastily, setting forth, only for Tiana to grab the back of her top, yanking her back.

"I don't mean mosey," Tiana snapped, "I meant get your skates on as in roller-skates."

Clara did a double-take. "Roller-skates?" she squeaked, eyes growing wide with horror.

"No, Frank Sinatra's skinny ass," Tiana said deadpan. "Yeah, roller-skates!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't roller-skate," Clara said primly, regaining some of her composure. She could be dragged between alternate universes, stabbed in the side, hung upside down by the ankles and turned into a human piñata, but she would not demean herself by roller-skating around like she was an extra out of _Xanadu_.

"You do now, honey" -

\- "No, I don't," Clara said tartly, and sauntered off, the sway of her hips earning her an appreciative whistle from her audience.

"I'm gonna dock your wages, Lady Mary," Tiana threatened from behind her.

"What wages?" Clara muttered, slamming an iced tea down in front of a young hipster guy, his overgrown beard insulting her aesthetic sensibilities.

"I would like a plate of stuffed mushrooms, please," a familiar voice intoned, making Clara's head snap up, her heart suddenly racing in her chest. "And a large cup of chai" -

\- "Flynn!" Clara cried, rushing over to him, only to freeze at seeing him holding hands with Eve. They were squashed together in a windowseat, Eve practically in Flynn's lap, her ring finger sporting an indecently large diamond. It was Eve, and then it wasn't, her blonde hair long and loose, lips a slash of bright red, her dress clinging to curves the other Eve preferred to keep under control. But Flynn was still Flynn, wearing Clara's favourite suit of his, all crushed crimson velvet, an ebony silk cravat carelessly knotted around his neck, complimenting his black waistcoat.

"We don't sell whatever you said," Ellen the other waitress said, sounding bored, "only fries" -

\- "I'll take this order," Clara said, shoving her tray into Ellen's hands, Eve and Flynn looking at each other, the former raising a well plucked eyebrow at this turn of proceedings.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" Flynn said in disbelief to Clara as Ellen skated off, balancing the tray on one hand like an expert.

"Yes, you do," Clara snapped, "or you did, I don't know."

"Well, while you figure it out, could someone take our order?" Flynn said, looking past her, Tiana catching his eye, brow furrowing.

"Never mind your damned order," Clara said, stooping down so she was eye-level with Flynn, making him draw away from her, "we need to talk."

"Talk about what?" Eve said, standing up, nearly knocking over the table. Eve was already a tall woman, but in heels, she was practically gigantic, the sight making Clara think twice about insulting her. But then her gaze fell upon Eve's engagement ring, and all sense of caution abandoned her.

"Let's start with the fact you're engaged to my boyfriend," Clara hissed.

"Your boyfriend!?" Eve said in disbelief this time. "That's _my_ fiancé you're talking about!"

"You're his Guardian, not his future wife," Clara said, her voice cracking, "and he's the Librarian" -

\- "Wait, how do you know about the Library?" Flynn demanded, getting to his feet as well.

"Is there a problem here?" Tiana said, popping up like a Jack-In-The-Box.

"The Serpent Brotherhood," Clara fired at Flynn, "they were killing potential Librarians" -

\- "The Serpent Brotherhood doesn't exist," Flynn said, taken aback, "not anymore. And as for potential Librarians, there hasn't been one of them for the past ten years" -

\- "Judson, Charlene" -

\- "How" -

\- "For God's sake, Flynn, it's me, Clara," she said, the tears welling up in her eyes now, "you know me!"

But Flynn just looked at her, his eyes narrowing, as if she was his enemy, making Clara take a step back, finally realizing the truth, that this was the life she should have led, the life Flynn had wanted for her so long ago, away from the Library, as if it had never existed for her. There was no end of the world to be found here, only her own, and that didn't matter. That Clara would continue to take customers' orders, roller-skating the rest of her life away, selling her soul to survive.

Without a word, Clara turned and fled, the tears blinding her. She careered through the kitchen, shoving Dana aside, only to end up in Flynn's arms, knocking his spectacles askew for the umpteenth time. "Clara, what's wrong?" he asked, dragging her out into the yard. "Why are you dressed" -

\- "You're in there," she half sobbed, "with Eve" -

\- "Who in the name of Long John's long johns are _you?_ " Flynn said from behind them, making Flynn and Clara whirl around, all the blood draining from the bespectacled Flynn's face.

"I'm" -

"Are you _me?_ " the other Flynn asked, looking appalled at the idea.

"I-I'm" -

\- "Fading," Clara said, grabbing her Flynn's hand, the other Flynn's startled face the last thing she saw.


	13. The Walls Between Worlds

**The Walls Between Worlds**

 _Dark as midnight sun_ _  
_ _Smoke as black as charcoal_ _  
_ _Fills into our fragile lungs_ _  
_ _Cause when our demons come_ _  
_ _Dancing in the shadows_ _  
_ _To a game that can't be won…_

Clara collapsed against the wall, her arm flying up to her face, feeling like her lungs were being roasted from within. Flynn frantically clasped his frilly hanky to his nose, eyes scrunching up, the stench of sulphur making them sting. An industrial wasteland surrounded them on all sides, the carcasses of factories lying abandoned, flames stripping the flesh from their brickwork bones. The air was thick with red smoke, lending a strange dreamlike quality to the landscape, making the fabric of reality ripple like the surface of a lake.

"Where are we?" Flynn coughed, the smoke fogging up his spectacles.

"I don't know," Clara whispered, suddenly slumping against his shoulder, the strength leaving her. She couldn't do this anymore, watching Jacob die in a hail of bullets, Ezekiel a complete stranger who didn't steal and slicked back his hair, Eve a Teutonic temptress stealing a parallel universe version of her boyfriend, and Flynn a bumbling, stumbling, balding fool, who wept at the mere mention of the supernatural. As she began to bewail her fate, a loud roar suddenly sounded from overhead, Flynn screaming as ash rained down on them, the dragon's shadow drowning the world in darkness.

"It's a dragon!" he screeched, making the obvious even more obvious, only for his hand to fly to his neck, his fingers fumbling, then finding, before pulling out a dart of some kind. "Hey, it's got a desurrized pelivery systh"- He collapsed face-first onto the floor, hitting the deck like a debutante tripping over her dress.

"Flynn!" Clara choked, rushing forwards, only to faint like a wilting wallflower, the dark rushing up to claim her. Several spinning centuries later, or so it seemed, she opened her eyes, only to find herself face to face with Lamia, but not the Lamia she knew. This Lamia was barefaced, with her hair scraped back, wearing ulitarian clothes that extinguished her exotic beauty.

" _You!_ " Lamia hissed in disbelief.

"Me?" Clara replied, confused.

"I watched you die, Librarian," Lamia breathed, before suddenly pulling out a dagger, making to draw it across Clara's throat.

"Enough!" an imperious voice ordered, Lamia freezing as a figure cloaked in crimson emerged from the shadows, the hood hiding the stranger's face from sight. "Kill the oaf, but not _her_ ," the stranger said emphatically, gliding forwards.

"Mghgf!" Flynn protested, making Clara glance at him, only to see he was trussed up like a turkey, gagged and bound to within an inch of his life.

The stranger lifted back her hood, only to reveal Cassandra, her face terrible and beautiful, eyes aeons old, her lips a blood red slash. "Lamia," she reproved, holding out her hand.

"I apologize, my liege," Lamia said in a strangled voice, barely able to speak, unable to move.

"Give me the dagger, dear one," Cassandra ordered, knowing full well Lamia couldn't.

"I cannot," Lamia barely breathed.

"Yes, you can," Cassandra said, sounding bored, before finally lifting the spell, Lamia falling to her knees, dropping the dagger to the floor. Lifting the hem of her cloak up, as though Lamia would besmirch it, Cassandra turned to Clara, looking intrigued. "Aren't you interesting?" she said, circling her. "Not from around here but rather around now." She loosened Clara's gag by hand, her touch like ice, making Clara flinch.

"Cassie," Clara choked out, "it's" -

\- "I know who you are," Cassandra smiled cruelly, "and who I was, this shell I inhabit. But you died and I lived, yet here we are, fate coming full circle."

"Fate?" Clara whispered, the word striking her through the heart like a sword.

"Sweet Cassandra Cillian, sweet _dying_ Cassandra Cillian," Cassandra taunted, circling Clara again, "whose parents thought sacrificing her would save her. Instead it restored me to my rightful throne - not even you could stop me, the infamous Clara Hartley, who lost her life along with the Library at my hand."

Clara just stared at her, not understanding but understanding at the same time. And then she was on her knees, like a marionette being manipulated by an unseen force, Cassandra looming over her, flames of violet fire flickering in her eyes, her smile curving like a serpent's tail.

"Kneel before your sovereign and liege," Cassandra intoned, her voice making the world tremble, "for I am Guinevere the Chosen, your queen and death."

"Cassie, please!" Clara gasped, her hands flying to her neck as the life started to leave her, Flynn struggling in vain with his bonds, his spectacles slipping sideways.

"Cassandra is no more," Cassandra spat, "I wear her flesh for I have no other. My true form was lost with the centuries, they could not regain it."

"They?" Clara rasped, bent double now, feeling like her throat was on fire.

"The Serpent Brotherhood," Cassandra said with disdain, "an ugly necessity. But they had their own agenda, one I took care to obliterate into eternity. They'd planned it out to the last detail, killing your Guardian, replacing her with Lamia, using her as their back door into the Library. But if Lamia was their Trojan Horse, I was their Excalibur, the ultimate weapon, using me to seize control of the Library, harnessing my magic for their own ends. And they got their end at my hands" -

\- "You unleashed magic into the world!" Clara barely breathed, writhing now, kicking her feet, trying to gain traction.

"No, you did," Cassandra said coldly, "the sacrifice of your blood set magic free, restoring it to its rightful" -

\- "But it's wild magic," Clara whispered, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head, "it - it has to be controlled" -

\- "There should be no control over magic!" Cassandra bellowed, making the walls shake again. "It should not be imprisoned or contained" -

\- "It - it has to be," Clara repeated, the corners of her world turning black now.

"See, that is why your world is this way now," Cassandra said, stooping down so she was eye-level with Clara, "charred and choked, the dragons ruling the sky as I rule below. The people of your world didn't understand my vision, so they turned their toy guns on me, trying to take me down with bullets and bombs, forcing me to fight fire with fire, scorching their souls out of existence. Only those who understand remain now, seeking shelter in my shadow" -

\- "Gwen, stop!" Morgan Le Fay exclaimed, stepping out of the shadows, making Cassandra's head snap up. Morgan advanced on her, throwing back the hood of her black cloak as she moved, revealing her ravaged visage to the world, her skin scarred by dragonfire.

"She does not understand!" Cassandra argued, her anger unconsciously increasing the pressure on Clara's windpipe, making her finally go under, lost to a lost world. Flynn let out a choked scream, lunging forwards, only to fall flat on his face, still chained to the chair, making him resemble an overturned tortoise. Morgan raised her hand, lifting the spell, Clara spluttering back to life, her face dangerously dark red, eyes bulging.

Morgan studied Clara for a long moment, denial warring with dismay, before bitter acceptance fell across her distorted features, finally realising there was no point in fighting fate, that in saving Clara she'd already made her choice. "Maybe it is us who do not understand," she said tiredly as hell ruled above as below, the sky on fire, turning the earth to ashes.

* * *

"You are travelling between alternate timelines," Morgan explained tiredly as Clara paced the floor, massaging her aching neck, trying to wrap her head around the fact Morgan Le Fay was good, and Cassandra was now Guinevere of Camelot, the knowledge strangely stinging.

"Yeah, we've heard this part before," Flynn snapped, taking a puff of his inhaler.

"So what's the set-up here, then?" Clara asked, glancing around, her gaze sweeping over the charred walls.

"Long ago, I had been banished to the Beyond by Galeas," Morgan said, taking a sip of Rhenish wine, "but Cass - _Guinevere_ found me, Circe setting me free." The mention of the sorceress made Clara do a double-take, but Morgan continued her tale, unperturbed. "Time passed, peace prevailing, magic finally being restored to its rightful place, unfettered and free - or so I believed. But there was a rebellion, an underground movement, Galeas leading the revolution. He tried to assassinate Gwen, but Circe took the spell instead, sacrificing herself. Gwen went mad with grief, executing Galeas, stripping the skin from his bones" -

\- "I think we've heard quite enough," Flynn blanched, taking another puff of his inhaler.

"She was in a dark place," Morgan said, smoothing down the front of her dress, "I was the only one that could reach her, and over time, she came to mean everything to me. What I didn't know was that she meant everything to someone else."

"Lamia?" Clara hazarded, raising an eyebrow.

"But Gwen chose me," Morgan said, tilting her head proudly, "condescending to sit by my side."

"But you're on two different wavelengths," Clara said, confused. "How does that work?"

"Love cloaks a multitude of sins," Morgan said, exhaling sharply. "Gwen's power outstrips mine, but she tolerates my sacrilegious prattle out of affection, believing it to be an unfortunate consequence of the dragonfire."

"What, that being burnt has addled your brains?"

"You noticed then," Morgan said dryly, refilling her glass.

Clara looked away, averting her gaze from Morgan's scarred skin.

"So we're alive because of a witch's whim?" Flynn said, straightening his spectacles. "Humouring her heart's desire?"

"You're alive because your journey isn't over yet," Morgan said, standing up, "that it is only just beginning."

* * *

"Guinevere drew this one night," Morgan said, leading them into an ante-room, "a diagram of sorts. She couldn't identify it - something was stopping her from understanding, almost like a Benediction spell, shielding her from the truth."

"But you understood," Clara said astutely.

"And you don't," Morgan said slowly, her gaze taking Clara in from top to toe. "Even now it's still protecting you."

"What is?" Clara asked, confused.

"The Loom of Fate," Flynn intoned, cutting across Morgan, "an archaic myth - my _favourite_ myth actually."

"What, that's the Loom of Fate?" Clara said, gesturing to the diagram, something starting to stir in the depths of her memory.

"It creates history," Flynn said pompously, "so if you cut it, you effectively _end_ history."

"Fate and the future are no longer in alignment," Morgan said, sitting down, "torn asunder" -

\- "Resurgam!" Clara cried, before suddenly staggering sideways, Flynn finally managing to catch her before she fell.

Morgan stared at her, all the blood draining from her face. "It is true, then," she whispered, her fists curling into claws, "yet it cannot be" -

\- "Dulaque cut history," Clara said, ignoring Morgan, her voice cracking, remembering now.

\- "That's what you said back at Ghost World!" Flynn interjected impatiently, taking yet another puff of his inhaler.

 _"_ He cut my history," Clara said, ignoring him as well, shaking from head to foot now, " _our_ history - to stop the fall of Camelot" -

\- "I choose," Cassandra said, stepping out of the shadows, making Morgan's head snap up.

" _We_ choose," Clara retorted, flinging Flynn aside.

"There can only be one," Cassandra said, circling her, "the Chosen _One_ " -

\- "One doomed by her gift, one who fled from his gift, one who abuses it, one who is denied it," Clara whispered, her fists clenching by her side, "and then there is she who started sin" -

\- "And the dashing Librarian called Flynn!" Flynn trilled, before clamping his hands over his mouth, eyes widening with shock behind his spectacles.

"The walls between worlds are breaking down," Morgan said, staggering to her feet, "fate is coming full circle."


	14. Through A Glass Darkly

**Through A Glass Darkly**

 _Nothing_ _  
_ _to be scared of_ _  
_ _my dreams, they keep a hold of me_ _  
_ _my guides when I can't see…_

"There was a prophecy," Morgan said, cradling Cassandra's head in her lap, smoothing back her crimson curls, "and it spoke of a Chosen One" -

\- "Before you go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer on us," Clara cut across her, ignoring their blank faces, "I'm not interested. The point is, I remember now. Dulaque cut history to start again, to go back to the beginning, before Camelot fell" -

\- "Lancelot is a fool," Morgan said bitterly, "he cut the thread of fate without re-weaving it - now the fabric of history is frayed."

"So we're skipping from thread to thread," Flynn said, flinging his hands up in the air, "oh _joy_."

"Each one is a possible path history could have taken," Morgan explained, looking at Clara strangely, "history will continue to unravel until all of time is undone."

"It's already undone though," Clara snapped, remembering all the lives she never lived. "There's nothing we can do. The Library's no more - and as for Librarians, don't get me started. Flynn quit at the starting line, Jake's dead, Ezekiel's lost his touch, and Cassandra - well, Cassandra's not even Cassandra anymore" -

\- "She's you," Morgan said brokenly, "and you're her."

Cassandra sat up, her brow furrowing. "Morgan, are you well?" she asked, discreetly summoning Lamia to bring Morgan's tincture forth. "Is the fever returning?"

"I am quite well," Morgan said, getting to her feet, pushing the hair out of her eyes. "Pay no heed to my words."

"Maybe we _should_ pay heed to your words," Clara said slowly, studying Morgan, sensing another secret.

"You talk of everyone but yourself," Morgan said impatiently, pacing the floor now, the hem of her cloak trailing behind her, "but what about _you_ , Clara Hartley?"

"I don't fit in anywhere," Clara said, looking at Morgan like she was mad. "Then or now."

"The odd one out," Flynn said, startling her, "like me."

"You... you made your choice, Flynn," Clara said, unwillingly allowing herself to be sidetracked. "You know what you wanted, and you made your decision based on that."

"But maybe I should have chosen differently," Flynn said, taking his spectacles off, "at least it would have been a life of choice, not a life of safety, spent alone, on the sidelines" -

\- "Being a Librarian can be lonely too" -

\- "Now I know what I could have had," Flynn snapped, his voice cracking, "if I could go back, I would choose that life - I would choose _you_." He stared at her, his lips trembling, tears filling his eyes, Clara staring back at him, unable to move, shocked into immobility. "When I look at you, I see a life half remembered, through a glass darkly, caught between a dream and reality," Flynn said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, "but I can't remember, I can't see, I can't wake up - I can't have you" -

\- "You always had me," Clara said, clutching his sleeve desperately, "right from the second you said ninjas."

"Ninja?" Flynn said in disbelief, clutching her sleeve in turn.

Clara nodded. "It was the first thing you ever said to me," she gabbled, trying to make him see, "just after you skipped me in the queue at Starbucks."

"Starbucks?" Flynn said, confused now.

"Where I'm from, we have Starbucks," Clara explained, only to freeze as Morgan advanced on her, shaking her head. "What is it?" Clara demanded, glancing wildly around her. "Are we fading again?"

"He never had you," Morgan said, shaking off Cassandra's restraining hand, "you never even had yourself."

"What are you talking about?" Clara said, backing away from her, letting go of Flynn and her future.

" _You_ are Guinevere, Clara," Morgan said tiredly, "not Cassandra, but _you_."


	15. We Choose

**We Choose**

 _Cause my echo, echo_ _  
_ _Is the only voice coming back_ _  
_ _Shadow, shadow_ _  
_ _Is the only friend that I have…_

"But how can there be two Guineveres?" Clara asked stupidly, backing away from Morgan, Flynn backing away from both of them in turn.

"There was only ever one," Morgan said impatiently, stepping in front of Cassandra, "and she is you, or you are her – you are in alignment, or you were, I do not know. But she still slumbers within you, waiting to wake up once more."

"But how do you know all this!?" Clara demanded, the tears springing to her eyes, feeling like her sky was falling, dimly realising it had fallen a long time ago.

"When I was in the Beyond, I caught glimpses of other futures, whispers of other lives," Morgan said quietly as Lamia retreated back to the shadows, awaiting Cassandra's next order, "and I saw flashes of your face, the memory haunting me like a ghost. But I thought you were just another dream denied, an illusion to ignore, and I tried to deny you, even now, when you are right in front of me. To admit your existence would end all that I hold dear" -

\- "But in this world, _your_ world, there was another Clara in existence," Clara argued, angrily dashing away a tear, "maybe she was the Guinevere you saw. _I'm_ Clara Hartley, nobody else!"

"That Clara was nothing but an echo," Morgan said slowly, "like me, like Cassandra, even like your friend here," she said, glancing at Flynn, who paled, pulling out his inhaler. "This whole world is nothing but a series of reflections, like ripples on a lake bleeding into one another," she continued, circling Clara, "but reality is grievously wounded, and I fear you're the only one who can heal it. But it will require a sacrifice on your part, one which I'm not sure you'll be able to make."

"How do you know I won't be able to?" Clara challenged, clenching her fists.

"Because you're been running from what you are for a long time now," Morgan said, slowing to a stop, "and whoever cast the Benediction spell upon you knew this, that you weren't strong enough" -

\- "I'm strong enough now," Clara said from between gritted teeth, "so do it, do whatever you have to do." Flynn started towards her, almost like he was going to grab her, but Clara halted him with her hand, her jaw set. "I have to do this on my own," she said quietly, making him fall back, eyes anxious behind his glasses.

"You've already done this," Morgana said, confusing Clara, "you already know. But you were forced to forget as you were forced to remember. It's the willingness to remember without having the mercy of forgetting that is the sacrifice. It has to be your choice."

"We choose," Clara said as though from another life.

"And do you choose, Clara Hartley?"

"I choose."

Morgana raised her hands, Clara tensing up, already starting to remember, recalling how this felt, how _loud_ everything was as the world rushed at her like the oncoming tide, the painful pressure of the past threatening to overwhelm the present. But she felt nothing except a faint touch tracing the surface of her soul, and then she remembered, the pieces of the puzzle that was her finally falling into place. There was no rebellion, no tears, no anger, no denial; only a dull acceptance, making Clara take a step back, unconsciously squaring her shoulders against the burden she now bore.

"The battle has now begun," Morgan said brokenly, lowering her hands to her sides as the floor started to shake beneath their feet, the ceiling spewing dust, "but you must not lose the war, for there is a world to win."


	16. Where You Belong

**Where You Belong**

"What's happening!?" Flynn yelled over the racket, wrapping his arms around his head, Clara clinging to the back of his jacket.

"The worlds are beginning to re-align," Morgan yelled back, clasping Cassandra's hand, Lamia watching from the edge with bitter eyes, "but it's not enough to re-thread the Loom, to fix the fabric of history. Clara is only one strand of the story, Guinevere another, but there are others, those mentioned in the prophecy" -

\- "Flynn wasn't part of the prophecy," Clara shouted, "but he's how this story began. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here."

"He is the one who denied your gift," Morgan shouted, "in a way, he led you here, to what might have been, as if you never existed. He didn't want this life for you, living in the Library's shadow, but you cannot fight fate."

"So what do we do!?" Flynn bellowed.

"We go to the Library," Clara said suddenly, "that's were we all are, or we were" -

\- "But wait!" Flynn bellowed again. "How does Clara knowing she is Guinevere bring the world back!?"

"Can that not wait!?" Clara exclaimed in disbelief. "We're rather busy right now!"

"If we're going to do this, I want to know what we're doing!" Flynn retorted.

"The thread Dulaque cut was Guinevere's," Morgan explained, the wind nearly drowning out her voice, "but it was also Clara's because the two threads were intertwined, bound together. Everything connected to it began to unspool, history unravelling, splitting lives into separate strands, before separating them in turn – Clara finally remembering who she really is reweaves that original thread; those two fates are in alignment once more, and from there, we can continue to reweave the world back together, but only" -

\- "But only if we have the others," Clara said, glancing at Cassandra, "because it's not just my story, it's theirs as well – my life is woven through theirs, Flynn, Eve, Jacob, Cassandra, Ezekiel; it wasn't just my timelines we were skipping through, but theirs as well."

"You're in alignment with each other," Flynn said brokenly, "but not with me – I'm not your Flynn, not the one in the prophecy anyways."

"You are!" Clara cried, grabbing his face between his hands. "That's why you're here, because it was meant to be. _We_ were meant to be, Flynn, in this world or the next, as always and ever."

As she said this, a door suddenly appeared before them, cut out of empty air, Clara staring at its bright blue paint and highly polished letterbox, the tears welling up in her eyes as she remembered the first footstep she took through it, changing her life forever. "You took your time," she whispered, circling it, "I was coming home the long way round."

* * *

"What was that?" Flynn squeaked, pulling out his inhaler as he revolved on the spot, eying the Library nervously. "A magic portal or something?"

"The back door," Lamia said abruptly, making Clara glance up, brow furrowing.

"A shortcut," Cassandra said smartly, taking Morgan's hand, earning a fond smile from her.

"This was your desk," Clara said quietly to Flynn, before picking up her now cobweb covered _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature_ , turning it over in her hands, remembering it from almost another life.

"Thief," the desk croaked, making Flynn jump like a flea, nearly dropping his inhaler in shock.

"Bah humbug," Clara retorted, slamming the book back down, making the desk curse her in rasped Russian.

"This is where you died, Librarian," Lamia said from by a bookshelf, holding Excalibur aloft, her words making Clara whirl around, the sight of the sword in Lamia's hand making her freeze, the ghost of Guinevere stirring awake within her.

"Cal," Clara whispered, unconsciously reaching for him, only for Flynn to step between them, eyes anxious.

"Concentrate, Lamia," Cassandra snapped, making Lamia flinch, "we have much work to do."

"You need to join hands," Morgan said quickly, letting go of Cassandra's, "to form the circle of fate, and then we can begin to restore the world to its original state" -

\- "But that will end our existence," Lamia said, stepping forwards, lowering Excalibur to her side.

"It is a necessary sacrifice," Morgan said tersely, her lips trembling as she joined Clara and Cassandra's hands together, Flynn hanging back, hesitating.

Lamia just stared at her, her gaze then travelling to Cassandra, who just raised her chin, looking scornful, seeing not her equal, but her inferior, disregarding Lamia and her love, trampling it beneath her feet. But love cloaked many sins, and Lamia loved, and what Lamia loved, she would not lose.

Without warning, she suddenly threw Excalibur like a spear in Clara's direction, the sword spinning through the air, flashing in the dim light, her aim deadly, hallmarked by the hand of a self-confessed killer. But for once, she never found her target, finding Flynn instead, Clara's scream renting reality apart all over again.

Morgan whirled on Lamia, her cloak whipping round her like wind. "What have you done!?" she screeched, her face suddenly inhuman, eyes coloured crimson, fingers curling into claws.

Lamia just stood there, defeat finally defeating her. "I had to try," she whispered, her shaking voice oddly ringing round the Library. "I will not fade into the shadows this time, awaiting my next order, the obedient servant - I will take fate into my own hands, even as I fail. I will not lose what I love" -

\- "And neither will I," Morgan spat, raising her hand, Lamia's neck snapping, her body crumbling to the ground. Stepping over Lamia, she swept over to where Clara was on her knees, cradling Flynn in her arms, Cassandra just standing there, helpless for the first time in her life.

"Save him, please," Clara wept, but Morgan just shook her head, reaching for Cassandra.

"I cannot fight fate," she said quietly, the crimson fire fading from her eyes, "this is what Lancelot did not understand, that history repeats itself" -

\- "You can take life," Clara cried, jerking her head at Lamia's body, "so give it! Save him!"

"Clara," Flynn whispered, turning his head so he could see her one last time, "it's okay, I chose this, it was my choice." Clara just stared at him, Flynn smiling brokenly at her, the life leaving his eyes as he faded from the world, until Clara's arms were empty, finally losing all she had left.

* * *

"Get up," Morgan said quietly to Clara.

But Clara just remained rooted to the spot, shaking from head to foot, the tears silently rolling down her face.

"Get up!" Morgan screamed, finally letting the strain show, making Clara flinch violently. But still she remained on her knees, her grief a display of defiance, making Morgan haul her upwards, her fingers biting into her flesh. "Take her hand," Morgan ordered Cassandra again, "we shall begin."

"But will it work?" Cassandra asked, obeying, albeit with some distaste. She had killed Clara in that corner, yet here she stood, hand in hand with her enemy, sacrificing herself and her heart for her sake.

"I do not know," Morgan said impatiently, "I can only try. He was the beginning of her story, now he is her end – maybe all our ends" -

\- "Try," Cassandra said gently, taking Morgan's other hand, "just try."

Morgan's lips trembled again, but she smiled through her tears, before letting go of all she had loved for so long, raising both hands, her eyes flashing red fire again, the floor shaking beneath their feet like it had in the old world, foreshadowing the arrival of the new.

Then Ezekiel was there, clasping Cassandra's hand, face shellshocked, then an equally startled Jacob, his hand in Clara's, as if he had never let go, the sight of him making Clara slump forwards in shock, both he and Cassandra hauling her upright.

"You're dead," Clara whispered, looking at Jacob like she could never look at him enough.

"So are you," Ezekiel pointed out, remembering his Clara with the candyfloss curls, "kind of."

"It was just a lil illusion to confuse the enemy," Jacob said guiltily to Clara, "to buy me some time to escape."

"Bastard!" Clara screamed, trying and failing to kick him.

"Your legs are too short," Ezekiel pointed out again, making Jacob roll his eyes.

As the Library span around them, Eve was suddenly there, then Flynn, the former in a wedding dress, the latter in a black velvet suit. "You!" Eve bellowed upon catching sight of Clara still in her diner waitress uniform.

"You!" Flynn echoed, doing a double-take at Clara.

"I told you to try!" Cassandra yelled, making Morgan laugh, the sound soaring around the Library like music.

Clara just stared at Flynn, her chin trembling, unable to take anymore. But she held on all the same, the others holding onto her and each other, reweaving the fabric of fate, the Library returning to life, the dust disappearing, the cobwebs fading, furniture rearranging itself into its original positions, drawers opening and shutting, books flying from the shelves.

Time was going backwards as they went forwards, and then there was a flash of golden light, sending Clara sprawling to the floor, to where Flynn had faded from her. For a moment, she lay there, and then after what seemed like eternity, she finally raised her head, her gaze crashing into Morgan's, everybody else gone, leaving Clara to finish the story on her own, a story about a life of mystery and misery, of loneliness but adventure, a chance to make a difference, a chance to save the world every week - twice before Friday.

Morgan raised her hand, the back door opening at her last command, her flesh beginning to fade from this world still yet to be won. "The doors to the Loom are open," she said tiredly, "existing beyond space and time. Go forth and fight for your fate, Clara Hartley." And with that, she was gone, as if she had never been.

 _Make your way up to the stars_ _  
_ _It's there where you belong…_


	17. Thunder & Lightning (Reprise)

**Thunder & Lightning (Reprise)**

Clara stood there, blinking in the sunlight, standing on the bridge from before, the Loom of Fate nearby, half finished, a story still to be told. At the heavy fall of footsteps behind her, she whirled around, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand, only find a face half remembered through a glass darkly.

"Guinevere," Lancelot smiled, reaching for her, "my love, my life."

Clara paled, taking a step back, remembering the clash of swords like thunder and lightning, the world rippling around her, feeling herself beginning to fade. In vain, she struggled to hold onto who she was, realising too late this was the sacrifice Morgan had spoken of, the real price to be paid for remembering, only for her soul to suddenly slip through her fingers like sand, Guinevere finally awakening to the world she had sought to win for so long.

"Gwen?" Lancelot asked nervously, taking a step back as Guinevere advanced on him, not anticipating this aggressive turn of events.

"You murdered me," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes, "you betrayed me!" The accusation was a scream, making Lancelot flinch, feet stumbling to a stop in shock.

"I made it right, Gwen," he frantically gabbled, grabbing her hands in his, "I changed history for you."

"For what?" Guinevere snapped, tearing her hands out his grip. "For a dream long dead, Camelot burned to ash by your hand" -

\- "Camelot hasn't fallen yet," Lancelot explained urgently, "Arthur's dead, but the city still stands. We can take the crown for ourselves, rule together, side by side" -

\- "I will rule alone," Guinevere said with quiet venom, "you nor anybody else shall share my throne."

"Some things just never change," Jenkins sighed heavily, making the pair whirl around, "especially you, Guinevere. Even time doesn't dare to touch you. It's a shame my sire didn't follow its example."

Guinevere eyed the sword in his hand, her gaze then travelling to his face, trying to find the boy he'd been, the son she should have had. "You saved my life," she said, her voice cracking, "and now you seek to end it? Father like son" -

\- "I saved your life at the expense of another's," Jenkins spat, "Clara Hartley's life to be exact, setting in motion the wheels of her destruction, reducing her to nothing but a vessel for your festering soul."

"You can't change the course of history, Galahad," Lancelot lied, making Jenkins flinch, his true title striking him like a lash, "killing her isn't going to bring Clara back."

"You tore time apart for one woman," Jenkins said, circling his sire, "so why can't I?"

"Clara is gone like Camelot" -

\- "Camelot still stands," Jenkins spat again, "it calls to me, a call I cannot heed. So do not try to deceive me, Dulaque" -

\- "And do you not think I hear it calling to me too?" Lancelot said, his lips trembling. "That the memory of a just king, knights of honour, magic to control the world holds no meaning for me? Before you were born, I used to stand and watch the sun rising over the distant spires..." He checked himself, jaw tightening. "That is gone now," he said tersely, "but we can build a better future upon its foundations" -

\- "Your definition of what constitutes a better future differs somewhat from mine," Jenkins hissed, raising his sword.

"Galeas," Guinevere said gently coming between them, " do not do this. Clara is gone, Camelot going with her. She was fated to die, just as Camelot is fated to fall. We can walk away from this, you and I, together."

"What, and let you tear apart this world just as you tore down Camelot with your bloodlust for power?" Jenkins said, backing away from her, still feeling that treacherous pull towards her, remembering how she used to sing him to sleep, her voice soft and low as it was now, the mother who wasn't his mother.

"Gwen, you cannot mean" - Lancelot began, eyes incredulous, making Guinevere round on him.

"What part of ruling alone do you not understand, you fool?" she hissed. "I do not desire Camelot – you are welcome to its ashes. I want this world, but I do not want you. Once, a long time ago, I craved your flesh, your touch, but no more. That was my folly. Now I hope you burn with Camelot, that your bones lie amongst its charred ruins, along with the rest of the Round Table" -

\- "Why are you doing this!?" Lancelot yelled, spit flecking the air. "Camelot is still that shining city of our youth - it is where we fell in love" -

\- "It is where you killed me!" Guinevere screamed, before suddenly freezing, her hand flying to her chest.

"Gwen?" Lancelot said, confused, only for her to collapse against the bridge wall, her face paling.

"I"- Her head strangely spasmed, making the rest of her body jerk forwards, Lancelot just standing there, staring at her, Jenkins doing the same, not understanding. Then she suddenly straightened up, eyes filled with flickering flames of violet, her face feral. Before they could even blink, she raised her hands, firing a wall of flame in their direction, Jenkins deflecting it with a wave of his own hand, turning it to water.

But as he did, Lancelot lunged at him, unsheathing Excalibur, the sight of seeing Arthur's sword in his hand making Jenkins falter, his hesitation nearly costing him his life. He parried the blow at the last split-second, the clash of metal making Guinevere clamp her hands over her ears, remembering her death blow, impaled on Excalibur -

"Do not fight fate, Galahad!" Lancelot bellowed. "This was meant to be!"

"Look where fighting fate has led us," Jenkins gasped, "to the edge of Armageddon!"

"But it was a better world in our time," Lancelot argued, "a world worth the risk of resurrecting. We had magic" -

\- "We had hell," Jenkins spat, "wild magic, cruel kings – it was a veritable pip!"

"Things can change, Galahad, but the people have to be ruled by wisdom," Lancelot spat back, "not the Arthurian idyll they used to exist in, but something more, something better" -

\- "No, they have earned the right to rule themselves," Jenkins said, circling Lancelot, "the time of kings has passed" -

\- "But the time of queens is just beginning," Guinevere said, advancing on them, only to suddenly stagger, becoming bent double, grabbing her head between her hands, a terrible scream escaping her lips, making the hairs stand up on the back of Jenkins's neck.

As Lancelot froze, half turning to her, Jenkins seized his chance, rushing forwards, sword raised, Lancelot reacting almost too late, Guinevere half raising her hand, sending both swords flying, Jenkins crashing to the ground in a heap of sprawled limbs.

"You shall not triumph!" Guinevere shrieked, grabbing her head between her hands again.

"And neither shall you," Jenkins whispered, his hand closing around Excalibur's handle as he stumbled to his feet, Lancelot doing the same, snatching up Jenkins's fallen sword, approaching his son with hate in his heart, determined to end this once and for all, the fate of all three hanging in the balance, a world waiting to be won.

The battle became bitter, a storm of swords, but Jenkins had centuries of loss on his side, revenge burning in his blood, driving him to the very edge of his existence, gambling his life for one last chance to secure vengeance. And for one brief heartbeat, he finally knew triumph, Excalibur's aim straight and true, but then Guinevere was between blood and bane, her eyes widening with almost wonder.

As she collapsed to her knees, Lancelot did the same, almost comically crashing into her, Jenkins realising with a strangely detached horror that he had won after all, but the victory was tainted, something dying within him at having his father's blood on his hands. He extracted Excalibur, its blade stained with sin, Lancelot slumping sideways, Guinevere still on her knees, almost like she was asking for absolution.

"Nothing like killing two birds with one stone – or sword in this case," Clara struggled to smile, making Jenkins fall to his own knees, shock striking him like a sword, "or we could play the pun out so it's the Sword in the Stone."

"Clara," Jenkins breathed, finally understanding, Excalibur slipping out of his hand. " _Clara_."

"Oh, it's me alright," she said, blood beginning to froth from her lips, "took a while for me to get here though."

Jenkins just stared at her, remembering Guinevere's convulsions, how she had gripped her head, _you shall not triumph_. She had been fighting herself, but just as he thought this, Clara suddenly fell forwards, Jenkins catching her in his arms just before she hit the ground.

Clara's gaze searched his face so strangely high above hers, remembering the boy he'd been, and the man she'd made him. "Don't look at me like that," she whispered, body beginning to convulse as the life left her, "it was always meant to be this way."

"I loved you," Jenkins said, almost like he was confessing a sin, "you were – my – my mother. I – I couldn't let you die, but I didn't realise it would destroy so many" -

\- "It's alright," Clara soothed, no longer sure of who she was, "it's going to be alright."

Jenkins bowed his silver head, the tears silently streaming down his face, finally letting go of what he loved. From far away, he remembered how he'd found Guinevere dying on the battlefield, using wild magic to tear her asunder from death's embrace. He had brought her into being and now he was ending her existence, fate coming full circle, in alignment like the stars.

"I died as I lived as I died," Clara said quietly, the battle raging around her, swords crashing together like thunder and lightning. Camelot was burning, fading as she faded, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The sky was a mystery she'd long since learned to solve, tracing the stars with her bloodstained fingers, finding her home in freedom before desire destroyed it, desecrating what had once been holy ground -

"We choose," Jenkins said brokenly.

" _I_ choose," Clara said, and then she was gone, the best of dark and bright, the world finally won.

 _Now Cinderella, don't you go to sleep_ _  
_ _It's such a bitter form of refuge_ _  
_ _Why don't you know the kingdom's under siege_ _  
_ _And everybody needs you…_


	18. Loving Fool

**Loving Fool**

Clara Hartley stood in the queue, _Insular Romance: Politics, Faith, and Culture in Anglo-Norman and Middle English Literature_ tucked under her arm, tapping her foot impatiently, shooting swift, barbed glances at the treacherous, ticking clock. The early morning rush at Starbucks was always a nightmare to navigate, and today was no different. No matter how early she arrived to grab her usual Caffè Misto, she was always last in line.

As the queue edged forwards, she flipped open her phone, checking for non-existent text messages. Clara didn't even know how to text, even though she knew how to speak Occitan. Her social life was as extinct as the dinosaurs, but she liked to maintain the pretence she was a party animal. But the closest she ever got to chaos was when _Chaucer's Constance and Accused Queens_ was shelved under the wrong subject. Time ticked slowly on, Clara's foot tapping with it, then miracles of miracles, she was at the front, only for a man wearing a tweed jacket to appear out of nowhere and take her turn.

As he ordered a Pike Place with extra kick, Clara just stood there, shock striking her like a sword, two worlds suddenly colliding within her, the memories making her legs nearly give out beneath her. There was her life as she knew it, and a whole other life just out of her reach, waiting for her to take it, if she so chose. She somehow understood without understanding that the Library was finally giving her the choice it had so long denied her; to either let Flynn walk out of her life forever, or to follow him into a fate of her own choosing.

"I choose," Clara breathed, " _I choose_."

Flynn strode past her, not even sparing her a glance, seeing only a stranger in a whole sea of strangers. As he made for the doors, the weight of that other world within Clara began to lessen, Flynn's footsteps oddly echoing through the air, taking him further and further away from her.

Clara bit her lip, before suddenly rushing after him, the heels of her knee-high boots skittering wildly across the floor as she went. "Excuse me," she gasped, tugging on his tweed sleeve, clutching her book to her chest. Flynn turned around, confused, only for Clara to drag his face down to hers, silencing the question on his lips with her own.

After what felt like forever, Flynn drew away from her, looking like she had just hit him over the head with a hammer. "You don't look the type," he said wryly, taking in her conservative clothes and demure demeanour.

"Never judge a book by its cover," Clara said smartly, before kissing him again, reality rewriting itself around them, golden light enclosing them in its own embrace.

* * *

There was silence in the Library, the books almost holding their breath, the words within their pages watching, waiting. Flynn leaned his forehead against Clara's, closing his eyes, feeling like he'd fallen a thousand feet. "Hartley," he whispered, " _my_ Hartley."

"Don't," Clara breathed, turning away from him, "just... please don't."

Flynn stared at her, aghast. "Clara..." he began, grabbing her arm, trying to force her to face him, but she yanked herself free, dark eyes blazing with badly hidden anger.

"I said _don't_ ," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Don't what?" Flynn challenged, advancing on her.

"Just don't, alright?" Clara said, backing away from him. "I'm... I'm..."

"I'm what, Clara?" Flynn demanded, trying to quell the rising panic in him. "Just spit it out, for crivvens' sake!"

"I'm done," Clara choked out, "I'm done with you and the Library. There I've said it, are you happy?"

Flynn stared at her, unable to believe what he was hearing. "What, you choose all _this_ ," he said incredulously, flapping a large hand at the Library, "and now you're just going to turn your back on it all and walk away!?"

Clara nodded, words failing her.

"But – but what about all we went through?" Flynn stuttered, clutching at straws. "All that we suffered to save the Library!? All that _you_ underwent – why did you do all that if you're just going to leave!?"

"We had to save the Library," Clara said stiffly, "not just for the sake of the world, but for its own sake. I was prepared to do anything to achieve that, just like you and the others. My suffering was never more than yours or theirs. But it was my choice at the end of it all, to either give up that part of my past, to erase it from existence as if it had never been, or to live with the memories. So I chose to remember, because that is my right, not yours or anybody else's but _mine_."

"But in making that choice, you chose me," Flynn argued, "you didn't let me walk out of your life, yet now you're walking out of mine – and don't start that shtick again about it being your choice. Your logic doesn't stand up to scrutiny, Clara."

"You lied to me," Clara said, tears filling her eyes, "you've been lying to me all along. It took me time to trust you, and when I did, it was everything."

Flynn half turned away from her, his jaw working. "I was trying to protect you," he said, unable to meet her eyes, "I was trying to save you from yourself."

"You still lied to me."

"The Library was trying to protect you," Flynn said, rounding on her, "it's been trying to shield you this whole time. It sent you the letter for interview when you were seventeen, but you never got it – even after all this time, it never forgot - it brought you here, to me, because you weren't strong enough to know yet. It had you under a Benediction enchantment to buy you time, to give you a chance" -

\- "You lied to me, Flynn!" Clara screamed, the tears rolling down her face now. "All our time together was built on the premise of a lie. Every touch, every kiss, every word, it's tainted."

"Even if I had told you, you would have forgotten," Flynn snapped, eyes wild, "because that's what the Benediction spell does" -

\- "But in the end I would have remembered," Clara said, shaking from head to foot, "I wouldn't remember you lying to me all down the line!"

Flynn faltered, the tears springing to her own eyes. "This... this isn't just about that, is it?" he said, his fists clenching by his sides. "We've been falling apart for a while now, haven't we?"

Clara involuntarily remembered Jacob in that other world, the life she might have had with him, the life Flynn had with Eve, the engagement ring on Eve's finger. But she forced herself to forget, that had never been, and would never be. "After my day off," she said brokenly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, "it was never the same. But that was because of that phone call – I remember, I was trying to phone you, and it must have gone through. You heard every word" -

\- "I heard everything," Flynn said, his voice cracking, "but I knew you would forget, yet... yet something changed, a line had been crossed. That day did something, it damaged us. You... you weren't the same. So I started to keep away, because then I didn't have to look upon your face, seeing a stranger standing where you should be. I... I could pretend everything was as it ever was – that I wasn't losing you, that you weren't turning to Jacob for what I couldn't give you" -

\- "Flynn" -

\- "I know," Flynn said, half turning away from her again, "but all the same, there's something there between you and him. You can deny it, deluding yourself, but it's there, Clara; it was there when I wasn't."

"You had to find the Library," Clara said, taking a step forwards.

"But I always came back," Flynn said, facing her, "I always came back to you."

Clara turned away from him this time, pushing the hair out of her face.

"Jenkins never told me about that day at the science fair," Flynn then said tiredly, "and that drove me further from you. Maybe he was trying to protect you" -

\- "Maybe he was trying to protect _you_ ," Clara said quietly, startling him, "to shield you from your greatest fear."

Flynn swallowed hard, his chin trembling.

"Don't hold it against him, Flynn. You... need each other," Clara said, something in her eyes making Flynn suddenly grab her arm, trying to stop her from their final farewell.

"I need you," Flynn said from between gritted teeth, "I need you, Hartley. So don't do this, don't throw everything away. Remember Venice? What we have, it was still there – it's still _here_ , Clara. So don't leave. Don't leave the Library. Don't – don't leave _me_."

But Clara just let out a bitter laugh, the tears beginning to blind her again. "God, this is ironic, isn't it?" she said, her words striking Flynn like whiplash. "There was a time when you couldn't wait to get rid of me – you told the Library that you didn't need anyone, that you were doing just fine on your own" -

\- "For Pete's sake, Clara" -

\- " 'I want you to leave the Library - to live your life as if the Library never existed'," Clara quoted, making the blood drain from Flynn's face, "that's what you said, so that's what I'm doing. I'm leaving the Library, it will no longer exist - for me anyways" -

\- "Clara, _please_ " -

\- "I never fitted in here, Flynn," Clara snapped, rounding on him, "I was a square peg in a round hole. Everyone else had their niche, I had nothing. I – I was just the charity case, a pity party. But that's behind me now, I'm moving on" -

\- "Do you regret it?" Flynn said suddenly, startling her. "Do you regret your time here? You might accept the memories, but have you made peace with your past? Am I a mistake you wish you had never made?"

"No," Clara said, shaking her head, "I don't regret any of it, you or anything. I – I was... happy. Despite everything, I was... content. But that was then, and this is now. I'm leaving, Flynn, and that's... that's it."

Flynn studied her face for a long moment, seeing her whole story. She had been running her whole life and she was still running. Nobody could stop her – not him, not even the Library. "It's your choice, Clara," he said softly, " _your_ choice."

 _Don't ever pick up the man_ _  
_ _If you don't think he'll understand_ _  
_ _Don't ever trust yourself if you_ _  
_ _Have a history of being a loving fool…_

* * *

Clara turned slowly on the spot, surveying the rows of bookshelves and display cases stretching into the distance, the soaring ceiling curving over their heads like a sky. It had been worth it, worth it all. Flynn stood back, giving her the space she so desperately sought, his heart breaking in his chest. Despite what she felt, she didn't seem to realise she was back where she belonged, her blood bringing back the Library, consecrating the bond between them.

"There you are!" Cassandra gasped, rounding the corner of the cannibalistic curiosity cabinet, the sound of her voice making Clara and Flynn spin around. "Come on! Eve's having kittens!"

"What!?" Flynn exclaimed, intrigued despite everything. "Really?" Anything was possible in the Library after all.

"No," Cassandra said, rolling her eyes, "she's just freaking out" - The rest of her words were drowned out by Clara's sudden hug, her embrace almost suffocating the life out of Cassandra. "Can't-breathe!" Cassandra squeaked, blue eyes almost bulging.

"Sorry," Clara said, finally letting her go, "I... it's been a long time," she finished weakly, averting her eyes from Cassandra's suddenly curious ones.

"Come on," Cassandra then said, grabbing her hand, before hauling her in the direction of the library wing. "You're missing the fun!"

Clara let herself be dragged along, Flynn following her, his shoulders hunching, knowing where this would lead. She shot a helpless glance over her shoulder at him, but Flynn turned his head away, making the tears well up in Clara's eyes again, the enormity of her actions beginning to finally hit her.

"Hey Hartley!" Jacob boomed, swaggering over to them. "Where the hell have you been!?" He threw his arms around her, Cassandra almost getting crushed again, Flynn suddenly very interested in his fingernails.

"Here and there," Clara said vaguely, detaching herself with some difficulty. "What's with the standing on ceremony?" she finished, brow furrowing.

"We're graduating," Ezekiel announced, fist-bumping her, "no more LIT plates."

As he spoke, Eve came down the sweeping staircase, carrying a set of leather bound journals, Jenkins at her heels, not a silver hair out of place. For one moment, his gaze met Clara's, the world hanging in the balance between them, and then he smiled, a mere quirk at the corner of his lips, but a smile nonetheless, making Clara smile back in what felt like the first time in forever.

"Good, we're all here," Eve said, smiling at Flynn and Clara, although something glimmered oddly behind her blue eyes, "for a moment I thought you had both bailed on us."

"Not me," Flynn said lightly, making Clara glance sharply at him.

"I had Jenkins make up small versions of the clippings book," Eve explained, handing the journals out, "a different case each day for each one of you."

"You can team up on some," Jenkins said, circling them, "and split up on others – just like Cassandra was doing, setting an extremely high standard might I add," he said, nodding at Cassandra who squirmed excitedly at her success being acknowledged. "Of course you can come back and get us if you need any help – but don't need too much help, that would be... disappointing," he said dourly, face suddenly forbidding.

"Are you sure we're ready for this?" Jacob asked, exchanging a doubtful glance with the others, Clara deliberately keeping her gaze focused on the ground.

"More than ready," Eve said firmly. "Trust me, you'll be fine."

"No offence... but I could do with a break," Ezekiel said uneasily, "despite my many _awesome_ achievements, I believe in having a breather. Even heroes need to take some time-out."

"I was spinnin' a tale to my family that I was down on an oil refinery in Texas," Jacob added even more uneasily, "so I was plannin' at some point to swing by an' say hi to to my folks, just check in with them, y'know?"

"Sounds like our Librarians need to catch up with life," Eve said thoughtfully, studying them. "How does a short sabbatical sound, Jenkins?" she fired at him, making him flinch.

"Be my guest," he said abruptly, "as long as they don't let the dust settle, they can tend to their private affairs."

"My family and I aren't really..." Cassandra began, her voice trailing off, "so... I'll just work on my cases," she said in a rush, clutching her clippings book for dear life.

"What did I say about high standards?" Jenkins said, bestowing an approving nod upon Cassandra, making her blush becomingly. "She'll be hard to beat," he added in a loud aside to Eve, making the others roll their eyes. Cassandra would always be Jenkins's star pupil, a pedestal they had no desire to be placed on.

"What about you, Clara?" Eve asked, glancing over at her, brow furrowing slightly. "What's your plans?"

"I... I'm leaving," Clara said, startling them all, "I mean, I'm quitting." She set down the clippings book, her hands shaking, Flynn turning away, avoiding Eve's suddenly accusing stare.

"What do you mean you're quittin'?" Jacob demanded, exchanging a bewildered glance with Ezekiel, Cassandra standing frozen to the spot, her pretty face shocked. "You've just qualified as a fully-fledged Librarian, man!"

"I... I can't, I just can't, alright!?" Clara burst out, before breaking down into tears, burying her face in her hands.

"Let's give her some space, hmmm?" Jenkins said, assuming command of the situation, ushering everybody but Flynn out of the library wing. "Chop chop, chums!" he said, closing the doors on their protesting faces, before turning to face Flynn and the still sobbing Clara. "Here, Charlene left you a letter," he said abruptly, pulling out a crisp white envelope from the inside of his waistcoat and handing it to Flynn, who took it, slightly startled. "Hartley, stop the hoo-ha," he then fired at her, making Clara raise her head from her hands, "it's not the end of the world – not anymore anyways."

"She's leaving the Library, Jenkins," Flynn choked out, stuffing the envelope into his pocket, "that pretty much constitutes the end of the world to me."

"Maybe to you, but not to me," Jenkins said stiffly, "but then again, I'm not the one warming her bed."

"You're loving this, aren't you?" Flynn spat, his face turning puce as Clara's turned tomato. "You never wanted her here in the first place" -

\- "And neither did you," Jenkins retorted, "but that's neither here or there. Clara's been to the gates of hell and back, so it's only natural she wants to turn tail; to curl up in a ball and cry and so forth. She is not an adventure, Flynn, she is a girl" -

\- "This is not the time to misquote popular young adult fiction at me," Flynn said, fists clenching at his sides, "so I suggest you quit while you're ahead."

Jenkins just bowed his head, before turning to Clara, his face becoming uncharacteristically soft. "Thank you," he said quietly, startling her, hesitating before smoothing back her tumbled brown hair, startling her even further, "for what you did, _thank you_."

Clara stared at him, before recovering herself. "The others, they don't remember, do they?" she said, changing the subject, hiding her still shaking hands behind her back.

"No, they don't," Jenkins said, dropping his hand to his side, "I theorize Flynn only remembers fragments, although I suspect Eve may recall more than she lets on – after all, during the Christmas affair, she fractured herself across space and time, existing everywhere all at once" -

\- "Jenkins," Flynn said warningly, pacing the floor now.

"You can't stop her from leaving," Jenkins snapped, "and neither can I, it's her choice."

"If somebody says that one more time, I swear I'll scream" - Flynn began, only to stop short, his attention suddenly riveted on something only he could see.

"What is it?" Clara asked, alarm bells suddenly starting to ring in her head.

"I'm... I'm fading," Flynn said, turning to her, his voice becoming bizarrely high. "From the feet up," he added oddly, holding up his leg, everything below his ankle completely gone.

"Oh my God," Clara said, her hands flying to her mouth, "oh my God!"

"Keep it together, Clara," Jenkins ordered, snatching up a magnifying glass, his face paling despite himself.

"This is my fault, isn't it!?" Clara cried, the tears beginning to fall afresh, Flynn now running around like a headless chicken on non-existent feet. "I've undone my decision" -

\- "I'm too dishy to disappear!" Flynn bewailed to the heavens. "Who's going to colour-code my cravat collection now!?"

"Do something," Clara sobbed, grabbing Jenkins's arm, "for God's sake, do something!"

Jenkins just slapped her across the face with a rubber fish, sending her sideways, before throwing a bucket of water over Flynn, stopping him in his sopping tracks. "I always knew a magical magnifying glass would prove useful," Jenkins said in an undertone before setting it down on the table, "so useful I may invest in another one."

"Jenkins," Flynn said, his voice cracking, "what in the name of Long John's long johns is _happening!?_ "

"You have everything and nothing to do with this," Jenkins fired at a still stunned Clara, "but it was his choice," he whirled on Flynn, the tails of his frock-coat flying, "and now he has to live with the consequences of that choice," he said, turning to Clara again.

"Even as it kills me!?" Flynn squeaked.

"No," Jenkins said, now pacing the floor, brow furrowing, "of course not. But in your alternate timeline, you chose not to attend that interview, disobeying a direct order from the Library I might add" -

\- "Get to the point!" Clara screeched as Flynn started to fade further from view.

"The point is you dragged him out of his own timeline and into yours, wherein he died, the end – or almost anyways," Jenkins said, eying Flynn like he was from Mars.

Clara just gaped at Jenkins, resembling the rubber fish he had just slapped her with.

"You are what killed him," Jenkins said from between gritted teeth, "yet you are also what is keeping him alive. The alternate timelines acted as a sort of Faraday cage – even if someone died in their substitute life, once reality righted itself, they would be restored to their original existence – but you robbed him of that refuge," Jenkins continued, circling Clara, "he became part of your timeline instead, a sort of bizarre graft – what I'm trying to say in shorthand is that the only reason Flynn is still here so far is because you're here."

"But the time she bought me is evidently running out," Flynn said acerbically, flexing his now see-through fingers.

"Which is why she has to go back and make sure you become the Librarian," Jenkins said, making for the back door, "and that you attend that damned interview!"

"What!?" Clara protested, doing a double-take.

"If Flynn fades from existence," Jenkins explained impatiently, "so will everything he has ever done, all those souls he saved, the apocalypses he averted" -

\- "All those sartorial successes I sported," Flynn wailed, burying his face in his now non-existent hands.

"Fine, I'll do it," Clara said, face completely bloodless, "I'll go back."

"If he goes down, he's taking you with him," Jenkins warned her, flinging open the back door.

"Never mind me," Clara spat, tucking her hair behind her ears, "worry about Casper over there."

"You can't escape your fate, Clara Hartley," Jenkins said quietly, but she just looked at him, holding his gaze for a long moment, before throwing herself into the fray, history repeating itself. Jenkins closed the doors behind her, exhaling sharply before turning to Flynn, only to find himself facing a pair of floating eyeballs. "Oh joy," he said dourly, "oh _joy._ "

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone that read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story, particularly **Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967,** **Fanficqueen306** , **Lycan Naval Mistress** , **IamTheDoctorsDaughter** , **midnight1221** and **Songorita**. I've decided to take Clara's story into Season 2 of _The Librarians_ after all, but I've also wanted to cover the films at some point, but couldn't figure out how. But the events of _By The Sword_ sort of lets me try out an idea I originally used for a video (which can be found on Youtube under **the librarians (clara oc) - time's rift** ) and I've used this as the basis of a sort of interlude story sequel between Season 1 & 2\. So the sequel, _Fools & Sages_ _,_ can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile, using the first Librarian film as its framework, and it jumps straight into the story, picking off right after Clara throws herself through the back door.


End file.
